t^  #• 


HARVARD  STORIES 


SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNDERGRADUATE 


BY 


WALDRON  KINTZ1NG  POST 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW   YORK  LONDON 

27    WEST  TWENTY-THIRD   STREET  24    BEDFORD   STREET,    STRAND 


COPYRIGHT,  1893 
BY 

WALDRON   KINTZING   POST 


Electrotyped,  Printed  and  Bound  by 

Ube  IRmcfeerbocfeer  press,  mew 
G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


TO 


THE  CLASS  OF  '90 


o»HaS 

Ss*S£c> 
CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

PREFACE vii 

JACK  RATTLETON  GOES  TO  SPRINGFIELD  AND  BACK     .  i 

THE  WAKING  NIGHTMARE  OF  HOLLIS  HOLWORTHY     .  45 

THE  PLOT  AGAINST  BULLAM         .....  64 

THE  DOG  BLATHERS 79 

A  HOWARD  AND  HARVARD  EVENING  ....  92 
THE  HARVARD  LEGION  AT  PHILIPPI  .  .  .  .107 
IN  THE  EARLY  SIXTIES  .  .  .  .  ,  .121 

LITTLE  HELPING  HANDS 146 

A  RAMBLING  DISCUSSION  AND   AN  ADVENTURE,  PER 
HAPS  UNCONNECTED 161 

SERIOUS  SITUATIONS  IN  BURLEIGH'S  ROOMS  .        .        .  186 

A  HARVARD-YALE  EPISODE 210 

THE  DAYS  OF  RECKONING 227 

CLASS  DAY 243 

How  RIVER'S  LUCK  TURNED        .....  257 


PREFACE. 


I  CANNOT  expect  any  one  to  be  interested  in 
these  stories  who  is  not  interested  in  the  scenes 
where  they  are  laid.  To  you,  my  class-mates 
and  contemporaries,  I  need  make  no  apology. 
We  always  gave  each  other  freely  the  valuable 
gift  Burns  asked  of  the  gods  ;  my  shortcomings 
I  shall  learn  soon  enough — especially  if  I  have 
written  anything  false  or  pretentious.  But  I 
feel  sure  that  anything  about  Harvard,  however 
imperfect,  will  not  be  unwelcome  to  you — 
provided  it  is  true.  We  are  scattered  far  apart 
and  cannot  often  meet  to  talk  over  old  times ; 
perhaps  these  recollections  may  partially  serve 
at  times,  in  the  place  of  an  old  chum,  to  bring 
back  the  days  when  we  were  all  together.  They 
are  only  yarns  and  pictures  of  us  boys ;  but 
you  will  think  no  worse  of  them  for  that.  The 
higher  traditions  of  the  old  place  I  have  dared 
in  only  one  instance  to  approach. 

vii 


viii  Preface. 

"  The  great  and  the  good  in  their  beautiful  prime 
Through  those  precincts  have  musingly  trod," 

and  for  that  we  reverence,  we  glory  in  those 
precincts ;  is  it  profanation  to  add  that  we  also 
love  them,  because  we  ourselves  have  rollicked 
through  them,  with  Jack,  Ned,  and  Dick? 

One  thing,  however,  I  must  say  to  you  before 
you  begin  to  read.  You  will  quickly  see  that 
I  can  claim  little  originality  in  the  following 
stories.  They  are  almost  all  founded  on  actual 
occurrences  of  either  our  own  college  life, 
or  that  of  undergrads.  before  us.  Some  of 
the  incidents  came  under  my  own  notice,  others 
happened  to  men  of  whom  I  do  not  even  know 
the  names,  but  who,  I  trust,  will  forgive  my 
use  of  their  experiences.  But  let  no  one 
imagine  that,  in  any  of  the  characters,  he 
recognizes  either  himself  or  any  one  else.  No 
one  of  us  enters  into  these  pages, — though  I 
have  tried  to  draw  parts  of  all. 

Among  you  also,  my  older  brothers,  I  hope 
to  find  readers.  There  have  been  changes  and 
developments  since  you  were  in  college ;  many 
old  institutions  have  passed  away  and  new  ones 
taken  their  places ;  there  may  be  features  in 
these  sketches  that  you  will  not  recognize ;  but 


Preface.  ix 

in  the  main,  Alma  Mater  is  still  the  same. 
Holworthy,  with  all  its  memories,  still  gazes 
contemplatively  down  the  green  leafy  Yard  ; 
the  same  old  buildings  flank  it  on  either  hand. 
The  white  walls  of  University  still  look  across 
to  the  aged  pair,  Massachusetts  and  her  part 
ner,  the  head  of  the  family.  The  latter  still 
rears  his  sonorous  crest  (in  spite  of  all  your 
historic  efforts  to  silence  it)  ;  and  is  it  not  Jones 
who  rings  the  bell?  The  river  is  there,  the 
elms  are  there ;  above  all,  the  undergraduate  is 
there,  and  oh,  reverend  grads.,  from  the  tales  I 
have  heard  ye  tell,  I  opine  that  the  under 
graduate  is  still  the  same.  If  I  can  recall  him 
to  you  in  these  sketches,  if  I  can  make  one  of 
you  say,  "  That  is  like  old  times,"  I  shall  have 
done  all  that  I  hope. 


HARVARD  STORIES. 


JACK     RATTLETON    GOES    TO    SPRING 
FIELD    AND    BACK. 

THE  shadow  of  Massachusetts  had  reached 
across  the  Yard  almost  to  University  Hall, 
which  fact,  ye  who  are  ignorant  of  Harvard 
topography,  means  that  it  was  late  in  the  after 
noon.  Hollis  Holworthy  was  stretched  in  his 
window  seat  with  a  book,  of  which,  however, 
he  was  not  reading  much,  as  his  room  was  just 
then  in  use  as  a  temporary  club.  It  was  the 
month  of  November,  but  Holworthy  kept  the 
window  open  to  let  out  the  volume  of  pipe 
smoke  kindled  by  his  gregarious  friends.  He 
and  his  chum  Rivers  had  an  attractive  room  on 
the  Yard,  up  only  one  flight  of  stairs,  and  these 
little  gatherings  were  apt  to  come  upon  them 
frequently.  The  eleven  was  going  to  Spring- 


2  Harvard  Stories. 

field  next  day,  so  the  foot-ball  practice  on  that 
afternoon  had  been  short,  and  several  of  Hoi- 
worthy's  "gang"  who  had  been  watching  it 
had  dropped  into  the  room  on  their  way  back 
from  Jarvis  Field.  They  were  a  typical  set  of 
Harvard  men,  hailing  [rom  various  and  distant 
parts  of  the  nation,  and  of  various  characters ; 
yet  all  very  much  alike  in  certain  respects,  after 
three  years  together  around  that  Yard.  Rivers, 
part  owner  of  the  room,  who  had  been  playing 
foot-ball,  came  in  after  the  rest  and  announced 
joyfully  that  he  had  been  definitely  assigned 
to  the  position  of  guard  on  the  team. 

"  Sorry  to  hear  it,"  growled  Billy  Bender, 
who  was  captain  of  the  University  crew.  "  You 
are  sure  to  get  a  bad  knee  or  something,  and 
be  spoiled  for  the  boat.  I  lost  two  good  men 
by  foot-ball  last  year.  If  I  had  my  way  I 
would  n't  let  any  of  the  rowing  men  play  the 
confounded  game." 

"  If  you  had  your  way,  you  old  crank,"  said 
Holworthy,  "  you  'd  strap  every  man  in  col 
lege  fast  to  an  oar.  Then  you  would  stand 
over  them  and  crack  a  whip  and  have  a  bully 
time.  You  would  have  made  a  first-rate  galley 
master." 


Harvard  Stories.  3 

"  I  am  tired  to  death  of  talking  and  hearing 
nothing  but  the  game,"  declared  Hudson.  "  I 
move  to  lay  it  on  the  table.  There  is  nothing 
new  to  guess  about  it.  I  don't  see  how  we  can 
lose,  and  you  don't  see  how  we  can  lose,  and 
no  one  sees  how  we  can4ose." 

"  That  is  apt  to  be  the  case  at  just  this  time," 
remarked  Holworthy.  "  Two  days  from  now 
our  vision  may  be  woefully  cleared  up." 

"  Shut  up,  you  old  croaker,"  cried  Burleigh, 
throwing  a  sofa  cushion  at  his  host.  The 
cushion  knocked  the  book  from  Holworthy 's 
hand  and  out  of  the  window. 

"  You  go  down  and  get  that  now,  you  pretty, 
playful  child,"  said  Holworthy,  indignantly. 
"  Oh,  thank  you,  yes,  throw  it  up,  please,"  he 
continued  to  someone  outside.  "  Much  obliged. 
No,  Rattleton  is  n't  here.  I  believe  he  went 
out  for  a  ride." 

"Who's  that?"  asked  Randolph,  as  Hol 
worthy  drew  in  his  head,  having  caught  the 
book. 

"  Varnum,  the  coxswain." 

"What  the  deuce  does  he  want  with  Jack 
Rattleton  ?  "  queried  Burleigh. 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know,"  answered  Hoi- 


4  Harvard  Stories. 

worthy,  "  but  he  and  Jack  are  great  pals,  you 
know." 

"  What ! "  exclaimed  Bender,  who  was  not 
one  of  Rattleton's  intimate  friends,  "  Varnum 
and  Rattleton  ?  That  is  the  funniest  combina 
tion  I  ever  heard  of.  The  quietest,  hardest 
worker  in  college,  and  the  worst  loafer." 

"  You  are  wrong  there,"  said  Holworthy. 
"  If  you  knew  Jack  as  well  as  the  rest  of  us 
do,  you  'd  know  he  was  the  best  loafer  in 
college." 

"  I  believe  that  good-for-nothing  chap  would 
get  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night  to  be  hanged 
for  any  one  of  us,"  added  Rivers. 

"  I  am  not  sure  about  the  middle  of  the 
night,"  said  Hudson,  doubtfully.  "At  any 
rate  if  he  was  to  be  hanged  for  it  himself,  he 
would  n't  get  up  before  nine  in  the  morning." 

"  How  did  he  happen  to  get  thick  with 
Varnum?"  inquired  Bender. 

"  First  they  sat  next  to  each  other  in  some 
course,"  explained  Holworthy.  "  One  day  Jack 
was  out  in  his  dog-cart,  I  believe,  and  met 
Varnum  walking  and  picked  him  up.  Jack 
was  a  Sophomore  then,  but  a  pretty  good  sort 
of  a  Soph.,  and  I  think  he  was  rather  surprised 


Harvard  Stories.  5 

and  interested  at  discovering  that  there  were 
men  in  this  University  outside  of  his  own  little 
set,  and  of  a  new  kind." 

"That  fellow  Varnum  is  a  rattler,"  said 
Rivers.  "  Hardly  anyone  knows  him  except 
the  crew  men,  and,  I  suppose,  some  of  his 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  pals.  He  has  been  making  an 
awfully  sandy  fight  of  it,  I  can  tell  you,  work 
ing  his  way  all  through  college.  Why,  do  you 
know,  that  chap  came  up  with  just  two  dollars 
and  forty  cents  in  his  pocket! " 

"  There  are  lots  of  men  doing  just  that  sort 
of  thing,"  declared  Ernest  Gray,  a  sympathetic, 
enthusiastic  little  man.  "  Some  day  we  '11  be 
proud  of  having  been  in  the  same  class  with 
some  of  those  fellows.  It  's  a  shame  that  we 
don't  know  all  about  all  of  'em." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Burleigh,  consolingly,  "  we 
can  always  let  people  think  we  were  hand  in 
glove  with  the  great  men.  *  Know  him  ?  Why 
he  was  a  classmate  of  mine' — all  that  sort  of 
thing,  you  know." 

"  Yes,"  said  Dick  Stoughton, "  it 's  a  comfort 
to  reflect  that  we  can  always  blow  about  them 
without  taking  the  trouble  to  hunt  them  up 


now." 


6  Harvard  Stories. 

"  Awful  nuisance  to  chase  up  incipient  and 
impecunious  merit,"  added  Hudson. 

"  I  suppose  that  's  why  you  helped  Jack 
Rattleton  take  care  of  Varnum  when  he  was 
sick.  Why  do  you  affected  fools  always  want 
to  cover  up  the  precious  little  good  you  have 
got  in  you  ?  "  demanded  Gray,  in  a  mixture  of 
sorrow  and  anger. 

"  One  reason  why  they  do  it,"  said  Hoi- 
worthy,  "is  to  make  you  flare  up,  you  little 
powder  keg.  Have  n't  you  got  used  to  it  yet, 
after  three  years  ?  " 

"  Varnum  is  a  first-rate  coxswain,  anyway," 
said  Captain  Bender,  coming  down  to  his  regu 
lar  estimate  of  worth.  "  I  ran  across  him  last 
year  when  I  was  looking  for  a  light  man  to 
steer.  It  's  lucky  I  did,  too ;  for  there  was  a 
great  dearth  of  rudder-men.  This  little  firebrand 
Gray  would  have  wrecked  the  'Varsity  crew  to 
a  certainty.  I  watched  him  in  the  class  races 
last  year — he  came  near  grabbing  stroke's  oar 
and  trying  to  pull  himself.  He  nearly  killed 
his  men  yelling  at  them  in  the  first  mile." 

"  I  should  think  he  did,"  ejaculated  Randolph, 
who  had  rowed  in  his  class  crew. 

"Well,  we  won,  any  way,"  said  Gray  in  defence. 


Harvard  Stories.  7 

"You  bet  we  did,"  said  Randolph,  "  and  we 
tossed  Gray  in  a  blanket  during  the  celebration 
just  to  show  there  was  no  hard  feeling,  and 
give  him  all  the  honors  due  to  any  coxswain." 

"  I  hope  Varnum  won't  be  too  busy  to  steer 
this  year,"  said  Bender.  "  He  has  a  lot  to  do 
always." 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on  in 
Holworthy's  room,  the  subject  of  it,  the  man 
who  "  had  a  lot  to  do,"  continued  on  his  way 
through  the  Yard.  Varnum's  financial  strug 
gles  had  not  been  exaggerated  by  Rivers.  He 
had  come  up  to  college  with  almost  nothing, 
except  the  clothes  that  he  wore  and  a  strong 
heart  under  them.  He  had  received  help  at 
starting  from  the  loan  fund  ;  by  means  of  one 
of  the  numerous  scholarships,  tutoring,  and  care 
ful  economy  he  had  succeeded  in  clearing  his 
debt  by  his  senior  year.  In  the  summer  vaca 
tions  he  had  supported  himself  and  laid  up  a 
little  money,  by  all  sorts  of  employments,  from 
that  of  a  clerk  in  a  country  store  to  that  of 
foremast  hand  on  a  yacht.  Though  he  worked 
at  his  studies  hard  enough  to  keep  the  necessary 
scholarship,  he  was  not  a  very  high  stand  man. 
He  was  interested  in  some  of  the  mission  work 


8  Harvard  Stories. 

in  Boston,  and  gave  a  great  deal  of  time  to 
"  slumming." 

During  the  last  year,  too,  he  had  made  a  little 
spare  time  for  steering  the  University  crew ; 
for  he  found  this  to  be  a  good  relaxation  from 
his  work,  and,  besides,  it  brought  him  in  con 
tact  with  men  whom  he  would  not  otherwise 
have  met,  many  of  them  well  worth  knowing. 
He  was  not  the  sort  of  man  to  make  friends 
easily,  in  fact  he  had  no  really  intimate  com 
panion  ;  but  the  man  to  whom  he  had  been 
most  attracted  was  one  of  entirely  opposite 
character,  training,  and  associates.  His  friend 
ship  with  Jack  Rattleton,  which  had  been  the 
subject  of  the  conversation  in  Holworthy's 
room,  was  not  an  uncommon  case  of  the  attrac 
tion  of  extremes.  Rattleton's  weak  nature  was 
easily  drawn  to  a  strong  one,  and  on  the  other 
hand  "  Lazy  Jack  Rat  "  was  a  source  of  amuse 
ment  and  interest  to  Varnum. 

The  latter  once  in  telling  Rattleton  about 
himself  had  said  laughingly,  "  My  father  was 
very  much  opposed  to  my  trying  to  work 
through  Harvard.  He  had  terrible  ideas  about 
the  old  place ;  said  it  was  a  rich  man's  college, 
and  if  I  got  through  it  at  all  I  should  learn 


Harvard  Stories.  g 

nothing  but  extravagance  and  evil.  I  have 
rather  changed  his  notions  now,  I  think ;  but, 
Rattleton,  I  should  be  afraid  to  show  you  to 
him,  as  my  nearest  approach  to  a  friend." 

"Why,"  the  ingenuous  Rattleton  had  replied, 
opening  his  mild  eyes  as  though  a  little  hurt  as 
well  as  wondering ;  "  I  dare  say  I  am  an  ass, 
but  I  don't  do  you  any  harm,  do  I  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit,"  answered  Varnum,  smiling  ;  "  on 
the  contrary,  you  do  me  lots  of  good.  Hor 
rible  example,  you  know ;  but  if  my  old  father 
ever  comes  to  see  me,  don't  offer  to  take  him 
out  in  that  dog-cart  of  yours." 

"Why,  it  is  perfectly  safe,"  Jack  had  de 
clared  ;  "  and  I  should  be  very  glad  to  give  him 
a  drive." 

As  Varnum  left  the  Yard  and  turned  into 
the  Square,  he  saw  a  tall  thin  figure  approach 
ing,  astride  of  a  diminutive  polo  pony,  and  fol 
lowed  by  a  brindled  bull-terrier.  Why  do  the 
men  with  the  longest  legs  always  ride  the 
smallest  horses,  while  the  little  men  invariably 
perch  up  aloft  on  the  tallest  animal  they  can 
find  ?  The  long-legged  rider  put  his  ill-matched 
steed  into  a  canter  when  he  saw  Varnum,  and 
pulled  up  alongside  of  him. 


to  Harvard  Stories. 

"  Hullo,  Varnum,"  he  called  with  a  little 
drawl ;  "  while  I  think  of  it,  here  's  that  five  I 
owe  you  for  tutoring.  Why  did  n't  you  remind 
me  of  it  before." 

"  I  have  just  been  looking  for  you  to  dun 
you,"  answered  Varnum.  "  I  want  a  little  cash 
very  much  just  at  present,  so  I  am  not  going 
to  tell  you  to  wait  until  any  time  that  is  con 
venient." 

"  Fool  if  you  did,"  said  Jack.  "  No  time  is 
ever  convenient  with  me.  Somehow  or  other 
I  seem  to  be  hard  up  all  the  time.  Oh, 
you  need  n't  laugh.  I  know  I  have  rather 
more  to  spend  than  most  fellows  out  here,  but 
that  does  n't  help  me  a  bit  when  I  Ve  spent  it. 
You  need  n't  grin  at  this  nag  either,  you  old 
monk,  it  hasn't  been  mine  for  sometime.  I 
had  to  give  it  to  that  robber  Flynn,  the  livery 
man,  for  his  bill.  Don't  seem  to  have  made 
much  on  the  transaction,  though,  because  now 
I  have  to  hire  the  beast.  Flynn  has  my  horse, 
hang  him,  and  somehow  I  've  still  got  his  bill." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  about  it,  Rattleton," 
said  the  other ;  "  you  will  be  renowned  as  a 
philosopher  some  day.  You  keep  discovering 
great  truths  all  the  time." 


Harvard  Stories.  1 1 

"  Are  you  going  to  the  game?  "  asked  Rattle- 
ton,  turning  the  subject. 

"  That  would  be  a  useless  question  to  ask 
most  men,"  said  Varnum ;  "  it  is  equally  use 
less  to  ask  me.  Of  course  I  am  not." 

"  Not  ? "  exclaimed  Jack.  "  Nonsense ! 
You  're  not  going  to  stay  all  by  yourself  here 
in  Cambridge  ?  Come  now,  old  grind,  do  take 
a  day  off." 

"  No,"  said  Varnum,  a  little  sadly,  shaking 
his  head  ;  "  I  can't  do  it.  I  can't  spare  either 

the  time  or  the  money.     Besides  I  have  some- 

' 

thing  on  my  hands  that  I   can't  drop  just  at 


present." 

"  Bet  I  know,"  said  Rattleton.  "  It  is  so 
of  your  confounded  indigent  kid  business.  Of 
course,  that  sort  of  thing  is  bully  and  I  admire 
you  for  it,  you  know,  and  all  that ;  but  I  should 
think  you  might  leave  the  indigents  alone  for 
one  day." 

"  Well,  you  see  I  am  one  myself,"  laughed 
Varnum.  "  Really  I  can't  afford  it,  so  I  don't 
deserve  any  credit  for  sticking  by  the  other 
paupers." 

"  The  special  rates  to  Springfield  are  very 
low,"  urged  Jack.  "  I  tell  you  what  you  can 


1 2  Harvard  Stories. 

do  ; — just  what  I  'm  going  to  do.  Bet  your  ex 
penses  on  the  game  and  then  it  will  all  be  on 
Yale/' 

"  And  if  we  lose?"  queried  Varnum. 

"  Oh,  well,  if  we  lose,  we  '11  only  be  hard  up, 
just  as  we  are  now,"  was  the  assuring  response. 

"  I  see  I  have  not  been  tutoring  you  in  Pol. 
Econ.  for  nothing,"  said  Varnum.  "  No,  Rat- 
tleton,  I  'd  give  anything  I  could  afford  to  see 
that  game,  but  I  can't  afford  anything,  so  don't 
stir  me  up  about  it." 

"All  right,  have  your  own  way.  Come 
'round  and  dine  with  me  to-night." 

Varnum  assented,  and  Rattleton,  calling  out 
to  his  dog,  "  come  along,  Blathers,"  rode  off  to 
the  stables.  On  the  way  to  his  room  to  change 
his  clothes  he  met  the  other  men  of  his  club 
table  going  from  Holworthy's  room  to  dinner. 
He  told  them  that  Varnum  was  coming  to  his 
table,  and  warned  them  not  to  talk  constant 
foot-ball  all  through  dinner. 

"  I  wish  I  could  help  that  chap  out  some 
how,"  he  said,  discontentedly  ;  "  he  has  got  on 
to  the  tutoring  dodge.  He  won't  tutor  me 
now,  except  when  there  is  an  hour  exam, 
coming,  and  he  knows  I  have  got  to  go  to 


Harvard  Stories.  1 3 

somebody  to  be  put  through  if  I  don't  come 
to  him." 

On  the  following  day  the  Harvard  forces 
began  to  move  on  Springfield.  The  game  was 
to  be  played  on  Saturday,  but  many  men  went 
on  Friday  afternoon,  for  there  is  great  joy  to 
be  had  in  Springfield  on  the  eve  of  battle.  The 
Glee  Club  always  gives  a  concert,  after  which 
there  is  a  very  fine  ball,  one  of  the  Springfield 
Assemblies,  I  believe.  There  is  also  apt  to  be 
another  ball,  a  "  sociable  "  of  the  something-or- 
other  coterie.  Holworthy  and  Gray  were  on 
the  Glee  Club,  and  were  going  to  the  Assembly. 
The  others  decided  to  go  to  Springfield  on  that 
night  also,  and  attend  the  other  ball. 

"  Down  with  the  bloated  silk-stockings," 
declared  Burleigh.  "  Let  the  kid-gloved  dudes 
dally  with  the  pampered  aristocracy.  We  are 
the  people  ;  we  '11  go  where  we  can  turn  in  our 
waistcoats,  stick  our  sailor-knots  in  our  shirt 
fronts,  and  be  right  in  the  top  flight !  " 

The  Glee  Club  men  had  rooms  engaged. 
Hudson  was  on  the  shooting-team,  and  there 
fore  also  had  a  room  secured,  and  the  two 
Jacks,  Rattleton  and  Randolph,  were  going 
on  one  of  the  club  sleeping-cars.  Burleigh  and 


14  Harvard  Stories. 

Stoughton  had  no  rooms,  but  were  willing  to 
take  their  chances  of  getting  one.  Indeed, 
these  two  very  rarely  failed  on  an  expedition 
of  this  sort  in  getting  the  best  of  everything. 
They  were  both  sons  of  the  energetic  West, 
besides  which  Stoughton  was  famed  for  his 
craft,  and  was  the  recognized  Ulysses  of  "  the 
gang."  They  had  a  very  effective  method  of 
working  together  in  a  crowd.  Ned  Burleigh 
was  six  feet  three,  and  his  weight  had  never 
been  accurately  ascertained  by  his  friends. 
Dick  Stoughton,  on  the  other  hand,  was  of  a 
slight  and  active  build.  On  arriving  at  any 
town  where  there  was  a  rush  for  the  hotels, 
Burleigh  would  breast  the  crowd  with  all  the 
weight  of  his  broad  front.  Stoughton,  following 
close  at  his  back  with  both  the  portmanteaus, 
would  swing  them,  one  on  each  side  of  Bur- 
leigh's  legs,  about  knee  high.  Thus  they  would 
cut  their  way  through  any  crowd,  and  arriving 
at  its  front,  Ned  would  take  the  baggage  and 
come  along  by  slow  freight,  while  Dick  dashed 
for  the  hotel. 

This  manoeuvre  was  successfully  executed  at 
Springfield,  and  Stoughton  secured  the  last 
room  at  the  Massasoit  House. 


Harvard  Stories.  \  5 

The  Glee  Club  concert  in  the  evening  was  a 
great  success,  and  after  it  was  over  the  respect 
able  element,  consisting  of  Gray  and  Hoi- 
worthy,  passed  a  very  delightful  evening  at 
the  Assembly  ball.  So,  I  grieve  to  record,  did 
the  low-toned  members  of  "  the  gang  "  at  the 
other  ball.  At  the  sgirte  of  the  Social  Club, 
Ned  Burleigh  obtained  control  of  the  cotillion 
early  in  the  evening.  With  Rattleton  and 
Stoughton  as  right  hand  men,  he  introduced 
many  new  and  pleasing  figures  of  his  own 
invention.  In  some  way  these  three  got  unto 
themselves  huge  and  gorgeous  badges,  labelled 
"  Floor  Committee,"  and  managed  the  whole 
affair  with  wild  success.  Randolph,  who  came 
from  the  Sunny  South,  and  "  Colonel  "  Dixey, 
of  Kentucky,  picked  up  one  or  two  Yale  men 
from  their  section  of  the  country,  and  organized 
an  extempore  Southern  Club.  If  the  govern 
ors  of  the  Carolinas  had  been  with  them, 
those  celebrated  dignitaries,  I  suspect,  would 
have  experienced  none  of  their  proverbial 
trouble.  As  the  evening  wore  on,  the  Southern 
Club,  in  a  true  brotherly  spirit,  extended  its 
privileges  to  all  the  states  and  territories  of  the 
Union,  and  initiated  each  new  member.  Hud- 


1 6  Harvard  Stories. 

son,  at  first,  was  disconsolate,  for  he  was  on  the 
shooting-club  team  that  next  day  was  to  shoot 
a  clay-pigeon  match  against  Yale  before  the 
game.  He  had  strict  orders  to  go  to  bed  early, 
and  keep  his  eye  clear  for  the  next  morning. 
At  Dick  Stoughton's  able  suggestion,  however, 
he  hunted  up  a  member  of  the  Yale  shooting- 
team,  and  agreed  to  pair  off  with  him.  The 
excellence  of  this  fair  parliamentary  procedure 
forcibly  struck  all  the  representative  shots  of 
both  universities,  except  the  captains.  The 
captains  of  both  teams  at  first  stormed,  and 
swore  that  none  of  their  men  who  stayed  up 
late  or  indulged  in  other  startling  innovations 
on  the  eve  of  battle,  should  be  allowed  to  shoot 
on  the  morrow.  When  they  found,  however, 
that  all  their  substitutes  had  "  paired  "  also, 
they  went  off  arm  in  arm,  and  were  found 
later  in  a  corner  with  a  large  earnest  bottle 
between  them.  Altogether,  as  Burleigh  said, 
"  it  was  a  very  enjoyable  occasion." 

Next  morning  the  clay-pigeon  match  came 
off,  as  usual,  on  the  grounds  of  the  Springfield 
Gun  Club.  It  resulted  in  a  close  and  glorious 
victory  for  Harvard,  as  the  Yale  team  shot  a 
little  bit  worse.  It  was  a  rather  costly  triumph, 


Harvard  Stories.  1 7 

however,  for  both  teams  with  their  supporters 
drove  back  in  a  barge  to  the  Massasoit  House, 
and  there  had  another  meeting  at  the  expense 
of  the  victors.  Those  Harvard-Yale  shooting- 
matches  are  a  very  pleasant  sport,  and  prolific 
of  the  best  of  feeling. 

Before  it  was  time  to  start  for  the  battle 
ground  at  Hampden  Park,  certain  financial 
transactions  took  place  at  the  hotel.  The 
slender  balance  at  the  Cambridge  National 
Bank,  standing  in  the  name  of  John  Rattleton, 
had  been  wiped  out  on  the  previous  day,  and 
most  of  it  was  now  deposited  at  the  office  of 
the  Massasoit  House  in  the  joint  names  of  J. 
Rattleton  and  a  man  from  New  Haven,  to 
become  later  the  sole  property  of  one  or  the 
other.  As  Jack  turned  away  from  the  clerk's 
desk,  he  met  the  steady  Holworthy  face  to  face, 
and  looked  guilty. 

"  Have  you  been  betting  all  your  quarter's 
income  as  usual,  you  jackass?"  demanded 
Holworthy. 

"  No,  only  what  is  left  of  it,"  said  Rattleton. 
"  Might  as  well.  If  I  did  n't  bet  it,  I  should 
have  to  lend  it  all  to  the  rest  of  the  gang,  if  we 
get  beaten.  And  suppose  we  win,  as  we  are 


1 8  Harvard  Stories. 

almost  sure  to,  and  I  had  n't  taken  a  blue  cent 
out  of  New  Haven,  and  had  to  pay  for  my  own 
celebration;  how  should  I  feel  then?  "he  de 
manded,  triumphantly. 

"  Will  you  ever  grow  up  ?  "  asked  Holworthy, 
shaking  his  head.  "  Don't  come  running  to  me 
if  we  get  thrashed,  that  is  all.  I  hope  you  have 
kept  your  return  ticket  to  Cambridge." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have  that,"  answered  Rattleton, 
reassuringly ;  "  and  I  have  twenty-five  dollars 
that  I  sha'n't  put  up  unless  I  can  get  it  up 
even.  These  fellows  want  odds  here,  but  I 
think  I  can  find  even  money  on  the  field." 

The  Yale  men  are  prudent  bettors,  however, 
and  Jack  did  not  "  find  even  money  "  at  Hamp- 
den  Park.  In  fact,  at  the  last  minute  he  could 
not  get  a  taker  at  any  odds  that  even  he  was 
willing  to  offer.  So  he  kept  his  last  twenty- 
five  dollars,  and  took  his  seat  with  his  friends, 
feeling  that  he  had  not  done  his  full  duty. 

All  the  morning  the  trains  from  New  Haven, 
from  Boston,  from  New  York,  from  everywhere 
within  a  six-hour  radius,  had  been  pouring  their 
heavy  loads  into  Springfield.  The  north  side 
of  Hampden  Park  was  a  crimson-dotted  mass, 
nearly  ten  thousand  strong;  the  south  side  was 


Harvard  Stories.  \  9 

equally  banked  up  with  blue,  and  the  two  colors 
ran  into  each  other  at  the  ends.  It  is  never 
weary  waiting  for  the  foot-ball  game  to  begin, 
when  the  weather  is  good.  It  is  amusing  to 
see  the  grads  come  swarming  to  the  standard. 
Familiar  and  popular  faces  turn  up,  that 
have  been  out  of  college  only  a  year  or  two, 
and  their  owners  are  greeted  enthusiastically 
by  their  late  companions.  There,  too,  come 
numbers  of  faces  far  more  widely  known,  those 
of  governors,  congressmen,  judges,  architects, 
and  clergymen.  Other  faces,  not  so  conspicuous, 
are  apparently  equally  interesting  over  the  top 
of  glowing  bunches  of  Jacqueminots,  or  of  vio 
lets,  as  the  case  may  be.  Jack  Rattleton's  ter 
rier  Blathers,  who  was  rarely  separated  from 
his  master  on  any  occasion,  took  more  interest 
in  a  big  dog  with  a  blue  blanket  on  the  other 
side  of  the  field,  a  familiar  figure  at  recent  foot 
ball  games. 

At  about  half  past  two  o'clock  a  great  cheer 
rolled  simultaneously  along  both  sides  of  the 
field,  and  there  trotted  into  the  lists  twenty- 
two  young  specimens  of  this  "  dyspeptic,  ice- 
water-drinking  "  nation.  It  is  sometimes  said 
that  Americans  are  overworked  and  deterio- 


2O  Harvard  Stories. 

rated  from  the  physical  standard  of  the  race ; 
but  as  these  youths  of  the  Western  branch 
pulled  off  their  sweaters  and  faced  each  other, 
they  did  not  look  a  very  degenerate  brood. 
Harvard  had  the  ball  and  formed  a  close 
"  wedge/'  Yale  deployed  in  open  line  of  battle. 
For  a  moment  they  stood  there,  all  crouching 
forward,  their  heads  well  down,  their  great 
limbs  tense,  all  straining  for  the  word  to  spring 
at  each  other.  There  was  not  a  sound  around 
the  field.  "  Play  !  "  called  the  referee,  and  the 
Harvard  wedge  shot  forward,  and  crashed  with 
a  sound  of  grinding  canvas  into  the  mass  of 
blue-legged  bodies  that  rushed  to  meet  it. 

For  nearly  three  quarters  of  an  hour  the 
mimic  battle  was  fought  back  and  forth  along 
the  white-barred  field.  All  the  tactics  of  war 
were  there  employed  ;  the  centre  was  pierced, 
the  flanks  were  turned,  heavy  columns  were 
instantaneously  massed  against  any  weak  spot. 
It  was  even,  very  even  ;  but  at  last  a  long  punt 
and  a  fumble  gave  Harvard  the  ball,  well  in 
the  enemy's  territory.  A  well-supported  run 
around  the  right  end  by  Jarvis,  the  famous 
flying  half-back,  two  charges  by  Blake  the  ter 
rible  line-breaker,  and  a  wedge  bang  through  the 


Harvard  Stories.  2 1 

centre  drove  the  ball  to  Yale's  five-yard  line. 
Another  gain  of  his  length  by  the  tall  Rivers. 
Another.  Then  with  their  backs  on  their  very 
line  the  Yale  men  rallied  in  a  way  they  have. 
Down,  no  gain.  Now  for  one  good  push  or  a 
drop  kick  !  Time.  The  first  half  of  the  game 
was  over  and  neither  side  had  scored. 

"  Everything  is  lovely,"  declared  Hudson. 
"  We  '11  have  the  wind  with  us  next  half. 
We  've  had  the  best  of  it  so  far,  as  it  is.  It 's  a 
sure  thing  now."  That  was  the  general  feeling 
among  the  Harvard  supporters,  and  every  one 
was  happy.  To  the  excited  spectators  the 
interval  was  a#  grateful  relief,  almost  a  neces 
sary  one  to  little  Gray,  who  was  nearly  beside 
himself.  He  moaned  every  now  and  then  over 
his  physical  inability  to  carry  the  Crimson  in 
the  lists. 

After  fifteen  minutes'  rest,  the  giants  lined 
up  again.  The  wind  did  seem  to  make  a  dif 
ference,  for  the  play  from  the  start  was  in 
Yale's  ground.  Jarvis  the  runner,  who  had 
been  saved  a  good  deal  in  the  first  half,  was 
now  used  with  telling  effect. 

Within  fifteen  minutes,  an  exchange  of 
punts  brought  the  ball  to  Yale's  thirty-yard 


22  Harvard  Stories. 

line.  After  three  downs  Spofford  dropped 
back  as  though  for  a  kick,  and  the  Yale  full 
back  retreated  for  the  catch.  Instead  of  the 
expected  kick,  Rivers  the  guard  charged  for 
the  left  end,  and  the  blue  line  concentrated  on 
that  point  to  meet  him,  when  suddenly  Jarvis, 
with  the  ball  tucked  under  his  arm,  was  seen 
going  like  a  whirlwind  around  the  right,  well 
covered  by  his  supports.  The  Yale  left-end 
was  knocked  off  his  legs,  and  the  whole  crimson 
bank  of  spectators  rose  to  its  feet  with  a  roar, 
as  it  realized  that  Jarvis  had  circled  the  end. 
The  Yale  halfs  had  been  drawn  to  their  right, 
and  every  one  knew  that  with  Jarvis  once  past 
the  forwards,  no  one  could  run  him  down. 

On  he  went  at  top  speed  for  the  longed-for 
touch-line.  The  full-back,  however,  was  head 
ing  him  off,  he  had  outrun  his  interferers,  and 
a  Yale  'Varsity  full-back  is  not  apt  to  miss  a 
clear  tackle  in  the  open.  They  came  together 
close  to  the  line.  Just  as  his  adversary 
crouched  for  his  hips,  Jarvis  leaped  high  from 
the  ground,  and  hurled  himself  forward,  head 
first.  The  Yale  man,  like  a  hawk,  "  nailed " 
him  in  the  air,  but  his  weight  carried  him  on, 
and  they  both  fell  with  a  fearful  shock — over 


Harvard  Stories.  23 

the  line !  The  next  minute  they  were  buried 
under  a  pile  of  men. 

Then  did  all  the  Harvard  hosts  shout  with 
a  mighty  shout  that  made  the  air  tremble. 
For  five  minutes  dignified  men,  old  and  young, 
cheered  and  hugged  each  other,  and  acted  as 
they  never  do  on  any  other  occasion,  except 
perhaps  a  college  boat-race.  The  two  elevens 
had  grouped  around  the  spot  where  the  touch 
down  had  been  made.  Suddenly  the  pande 
monium  ceased  as  the  knot  of  players  opened, 
and  a  limp  form  was  carried  out  from  among 
them.  "  It  's  Jarvis !  "  ran  along  the  crowd, 
followed  by  an  anxious  murmur.  A  substitute 
ran  back  to  the  grand  stand  and  shouted, 
"  nothing  serious,  only  his  collar-bone."  Those 
near  the  place  where  the  plucky  half-back  was 
borne  off  the  field  could  see  that  his  face  was 
pale,  but  supremely  happy,  and  he  smiled 
faintly  as  he  heard  the  cheers  of  thousands, 
and  his  own  name  coupled  with  that  of  his 
Alma  Mater. 

The  touch-down  had  been  made  almost  at 
the  corner  too  far  aside  for  the  try  for  goal 
to  succeed.  Spofford's  kick  was  a  splendid  at 
tempt,  but  the  ball  struck  the  goal  post. 


24  Harvard  Stories. 

Then  the  battle  began  again.  The  Harvard 
team  had  suffered  an  irreparable  loss  in  the  fall 
of  the  famous  Jarvis,  but  the  score  was  four  to 
nothing  in  its  favor,  and  all  it  needed  to  do  now 
was  to  hold  its  own.  The  Crimson  was  on  the 
crest,  and  it  was  for  the  Blue  to  come  up  hill. 
Every  one  on  the  north  side  was  elated  and 
confident.  Then  began  a  struggle  grim  and 
great.  The  Yale  men  closed  up  and  went  in 
for  the  last  chance.  There  was  no  punting  for 
them  now,  the  wind  was  against  them  ;  but  they 
had  the  heavier  weight  and  well  they  used  every 
ounce  of  it.  Steadily,  as  the  Old  Guard  trod 
over  its  slain  at  Waterloo,  did  the  Blue  wedge 
drive  its  way,  rod  by  rod,  towards  the  Harvard 
line.  And  as  the  fierce  red  Britons  tore  at 
Napoleon's  devoted  column,  so  did  the  Crimson 
warriors  leap  on  that  earth-stained  phalanx. 
The  rushers  strained  against  it,  Blake  would 
plunge  into  and  stagger  it,  Rivers  and  Spofford 
would  throw  their  great  bodies  flat  under  the 
trampling  feet,  and  bring  the  whole  mass  down 
over  them.  At  last  there  would  be  a  waver  in 
the  advance,three  forward  struggles  checked  and 
shattered,  and  on  the  fourth  down,  the  ball 
would  be  Harvard's.  On  the  first  line  up  with 


Harvard  Stories.  25 

the  ball  in  Harvard's  possession,  would  be  heard 
the  sound  of  Spofford's  unerring  foot  against 
the  leather  and  the  brown  oval  would  go  curving 
and  spinning  over  the  heads  of  the  rushers,  far 
back  into  Yale's  territory,  with  the  Harvard 
ends  well  under  it.  A  great  "  Oh  !  "  of  relief 
would  go  up  from  the  north  side.  Then  those 
Yale  bull-dogs  would  begin  all  over  again. 
Again  and  again  did  they  fight  their  way  almost 
to  the  Harvard  line,  only  to  be  driven  all  the 
way  back  by  a  long  Spofford  punt. 

"  How  those  Elis  do  fight !  "  exclaimed  Gray 
in  admiration.  "  Don't  they,"  admitted  Bur- 
leigh ;  "  and  is  n't  it  nice  to  be  able  to  be 
magnanimous  and  admire  them?  What  a  lot 
of  credit  you  can  give  a  fellow  when  you  are 
licking  him." 

"  Those  chaps  are  n't  thrashed  yet,  my  boy," 
said  Holworthy.  "  They  won't  be,  either,  until 
the  game  is  called,  and,  by  Jove,  they  may 
not  be  then." 

This  observation  was  perfectly  true.  The 
Waterloo  simile  extended  no  further  than  the 
appearance  of  battle.  A  Yale  touch-down  would 
tie  the  game,  and  if  made  near  the  goal  would 
probably  win  it.  For  the  fourth  time  the  New 


26  Harvard  Stories. 

Haven  men  struggled  to  the  Cantabrigian 
twenty-yard  line.  There  had  been  many  delays 
in  the  game,  and  the  short  November  afternoon 
had  grown  dark.  A  bad  pass  by  the  Harvard 
quarterback,  a  slip,  a  fumble  by  Spofford,  might 
turn  the  result.  The  time  was  nearly  up.  The 
cheering  had  died  almost  entirely  ;  the  excite 
ment  was  too  deep  for  that,  and  every  one  was 
too  breathless.  A  short  gain  for  Yale. 

"  Rattleton?  Is  Mr.  Rattleton  here?"  called 
a  messenger  boy  walking  along  the  front  of  the 
long  stand. 

"  Hullo,  here.  What 's  wanted  ?  "  answered 
Jack. 

"  Telegram  for  you,  sir,"  said  the  boy.  Rat 
tleton  did  not  take  his  eyes  from  the  game  while 
he  tore  open  the  envelope.  Having  opened  it, 
he  glanced  hurriedly  at  the  message,  then 
jumped  to  his  feet  with  a  whistle.  He  had 
read : 

"  Come  to    Massachusetts    General    Hospital    immediately 
when  back  from  game. 

"  VARNUM." 


"  When  does  the  next  train  leave  for  Boston  ?  " 
he  asked  the  boy. 


Harvard  Stories.  2  7 

"  There  is  one  in  a  few  minutes,"  was  the 
answer. 

"  Whoop  it  up  for  me,  children,"  he  said  to 
the  others,  "  I  Ve  got  to  leave.  Come  along, 
Blathers." 

"Why,  Jack,  what  's  up?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Varnum  wants  me,"  and 
he  jumped  to  the  ground,  pulling  the  dog  after 
him.  "  The  poor  devil  may  be  dying  for  all  I 
know,"  he  added  to  himself,  as  he  made  for  the 
gate  ;  "  but  there  is  no  need  of  spoiling  their  fun 
by  telling  'em." 

He  stretched  his  long  legs  for  the  station  at 
a  rate  that  made  his  four-footed  chum  gallop  to 
keep  up  with  him.  The  train  was  just  starting. 
As  he  jumped  aboard,  he  heard,  from  the  direc 
tion  of  Hampden  Park,  the  distant  roar  of  ten 
thousand  throats.  "  Hear  that  ?  "  he  exclaimed 
to  the  brakeman,  "  either  the  game  is  over  or 
Yale  has  scored."  Not  a  very  enlightening 
conclusion. 

There  was  a  dining-car  on  the  train,  and  the 
sight  of  it  reminded  Jack  that  he  had  had  no 
lunch.  He  did  not  need  to  be  reminded  that 
he  was  extremely  thirsty  also,  and  actually  a 
little  worn  by  the  afternoon's  excitement.  He 


28  Harvard  Stories. 

entered  the  moving  restaurant,  and  with  one 
of  his  accustomed  happy  thoughts  at  such 
moments,  was  about  to  order  an  attractive 
lunch  and  a  pint  of  champagne.  Suddenly  it 
occurred  to  him  that  if  that  noise  had  gone  up 
from  the  wrong  side  of  Hampden  Park,  he  had 
just  twenty-five  dollars  to  carry  him  over  the 
Christmas  vacation  and  through  January. 
"  Furthermore,"  he  reflected,  with  a  knowledge 
born  of  bitter  experience,  "  if  that  is  the  Eli 
yell,  there  won't  be  a  mother's  son  in  Cambridge, 
that  I  know  well  enough  to  borrow  from,  who 
will  have  any  thing  to  lend, — except  perhaps 
old  father  Hoi.  I  suppose  he  will  step  into  the 
breach  as  usual  and  pay  our  car-fares,  but  he 
can't  support  the  whole  gang.  Hang  it,  I 
wish  I  was  on  an  allowance  again  ;  then  the 
governor  would  pay  my  bills  at  Christmas  and 
give  me  a  blowing  up.  This  being  my  own 
paymaster  is  n't  what  I  expected  when  I  was 
a  Soph." 

He  concluded  that  a  sandwich  would  sup 
port  life  until  he  got  to  Boston,  where  he  could 
find  a  precarious  credit.  He  also  decided  that 
beer  was  an  excellent  beverage,  at  any  rate 
until  he  learned  the  result  of  the  game.  After 


Ha  rvard  Stories.  2  9 

this  unusually  prudent  repast  he  pulled  a  cigar 
out  of  his  pocket,  and  smoked  it  carefully  in 
the  thought  that  he  might  not  have  another 
like  it  for  some  time — at  his  own  expense. 
However,  he  remembered  consolingly  that  his 
half-colored  meerschaum  needed  attention. 

The  moment  Jack  arrived  in  Boston  he 
jumped  into  a  herdic  and  drove  straight  to  the 
hospital.  He  inquired  for  Varnum,  and,  after 
a  little  red  tape  had  been  untied,  was  shown 
into  one  of  the  public  wards. 

At  the  end  of  a  long  room  on  a  narrow  bed 
was  Varnum,  looking  very  white,  his  eyes 
closed.  He  opened  them  as  Rattleton  and 
the  nurse  approached  softly,  and  his  face  seemed 
to  light  up  a  little  when  he  saw  Jack. 

"  How  was  the  game  ?  "  he  asked,  faintly. 

"  Splendid.  Harvard  four,  Yale  nothing," 
answered  Jack,  promptly.  He  did  not  think 
it  worth  while  to  mention  that  he  had  left 
before  the  end. 

"  Good,"  murmured  Varnum.  "  Bowled  over 
by  a  wagon.  Awfully  sorry  to  bring  you  here, 
Rattleton,  but  they  thought  at  first  I  might  be 
done  for,  and  I  don't  know  any  one — 

"  Yes,  I  know,  old  man  ;  cut  all  that,"  broke 


30  Harvard  Stories. 

in  Jack.  "  Don't  tire  yourself  talking.  Is  there 
anything  I  can  do  for  you  right  away?" 

"  Yes.  There  is  a  sick  boy  at  62  Sloven 
Street.  Tenement  house.  Jimmy  Haggerty. 
I  promised  to  see  him.  There  is  a  can  of  wine- 
jelly  and  a  book.  They  must  have  brought 
them  here  when  they  picked  me  up.  Will  you 
take  them  to  him  and  tell  him  that  I  am  laid 
up?  It  is  not  exactly  in  your  line,  Rattleton," 
he  added,  with  a  smile,  "  but  it  won't  give  you 
much  trouble." 

"  Not  a  bit,"  declared  Jack,  cheerfully. 
"  Great  play  for  Phil.  XL,  you  know.  I  can 
make  a  special  report  on  the  Sloven  Street 
district,  and  it  ought  to  pull  me  through  the 
course." 

"  You  must  n't  talk  to  him  too  long,  sir," 
said  the  nurse. 

"  All  right,  I  '11  go  right  off.  62  Sloven  St.— 
Haggerty.  You  make  yourself  easy,  old  man, 
I  '11  look  after  all  your  indigent  kids  for  you, 
and  I  '11  tell  the  other  fellows  you  are  here. 
I  '11  be  back  soon." 

In  answer  to  Rattleton's  inquiries,  the  nurse 
told  him  how  Varnum  had  been  knocked  down 
and  run  over  by  a  runaway  team  in  a  narrow 


Harvard  Stories.  3 1 

street.  He  had  been  brought  to  the  hospital, 
and  the  doctors  had  at  first  thought  his  injuries 
fatal.  Subsequent  examination,  however,  had 
proved  that  his  condition  was  not  so  serious. 
At  his  request  the  telegram  had  been  sent  to 
Rattleton.  Jack  left  directions  to  have  Varnum 
put  in  a  private  room  when  he  could  be  moved, 
and  every  comfort  given  him.  "  And,  by  the 
way,"  he  added,  "  don't  let  him  know  that  there 
is  any  expense  about  it.  If  he  objects,  tell  him 
the  public  wards  are  chuck-full  ;  tell  him  there 
is  small-pox  in  'em  ;  tell  him  any  good  lie  that 
occurs  to  you.  Send  the  bill  to  me." 

The  jelly  and  the  book  had  not  been  brought 
in  the  ambulance,  and  no  one  knew  anything 
about  them.  So  Rattleton,  stopping  at  the 
hospital  office  for  Blathers,  who  had  been  there 
deposited,  went  first  to  a  hotel,  for  all  the  shops 
were  closed.  From  the  restaurant  he  replaced 
the  wine-jelly,  and  added  some  cake  and  a 
bottle  of  champagne.  "  I  don't  know  much 
about  what  a  sick  boy  ought  to  have,"  he 
thought,  "  but  fizz  is  always  good." 

At  the  newspaper-stand  he  bought  all  the 
picture  papers,  and  found  a  colored  edition  of 
nursery  rhymes,  which  he  concluded  would  be 


32  Harvard  Stories. 

just  the  thing.  "  Now  we  are  all  right,"  he 
said,  "come  along,  Blathers." 

Jack  had  been  very  ready  and  cheerful 
about  his  mission  when  talking  to  Varnum, 
but  he  had  misgivings  about  it  as  he  took 
his  way  to  Sloven  Street,  in  the  heart  of 
the  poorest  tenement-house  district.  "  I  sup 
pose  it  is  easy  enough  just  to  leave  this  stuff 
and  come  away,"  he  thought ;  "  but  I  am  sure 
to  make  some  fool  break."  He  knew  there  were 
lots  of  men  in  college  who  "  went  in  for  that 
sort  of  thing  "  ;  but  he  had  had  no  experience 
of  that  kind  himself,  and  Varnum  was  the  only 
man  he  knew  well,  who  had.  He  had  a  vague 
idea  that  Varnum  held  prayer-meetings  among 
the  poor,  and  preached  as  well  as  ministered, 
and  he  feared  he  might  be  called  upon  to  do 
something  of  the  kind  himself. 

It  was  quite  dark,  so  he  heard  only  one  or 
two  requests  to  shoot  the  dude,  as  he  was  pass 
ing  lamp-lights,  and  to  his  infinite  relief  nothing 
was  thrown  at  Blathers.  He  had  expected 
certainly  to  have  a  row  on  the  dog's  account. 
In  front  of  62  Sloven  Street  he  found  a  small 
boy  smoking  a  cigarette,  and  inquired  from  him 
whether  Jimmy  Haggerty  lived  within. 


Harvard  Stories.  33 

"Sure!"  assented  the  youngster,  removing 
the  cigarette  from  his  lips  and  holding  the 
lighted  end  for  Blathers  to  smell.  "  Is  you  one 
o'  de  Ha'vards?"  "Ye-es,"  acknowledged 
Jack,  doubtfully,  feeling  that  he  was  deceiving 
the  little  man ;  for  he  suspected  that  he  was 
not  exactly  the  kind  of  "  a  Ha'vard  "  that  was 
expected  in  those  quarters. 

"  Well  say,  how  did  de  game  come  out  ?  I 
ain't  seen  de  bulletin-boards." 

Jack's  heart  leaped  towards  the  boy  at  once ; 
he  discovered  that  there  was  a  bond  of  sym 
pathy  between  them  after  all. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered ;  "  I  came 
away  before  the  end.  It  was  four  to  nothing 
in  our  favor  then." 

"  Chamesy  Haggerty  lives  on  de  tird  floor. 
I  '11  show  ye  up."  Jack  followed  his  pilot  up 
the  dark,  smelly  stairs,  answering  questions  all 
the  way  as  to  the  foot-ball  game. 

"  A-ah,  ye  can't  do  notin'  widout  Jarvis," 
commented  the  youngster,  upon  hearing  of  the 
half-back's  injury. 

"  Dat  's  a  nice  lookin'  purp  yer  got,"  he  said, 
eyeing  Blathers,  as  they  arrived  at  the  third 
floor.  "  Guess  he  's  a  good  'un  to  fight,  ain't  he  ? 


34  Harvard  Stories. 

Le  'me  take  care  of  him  for  yer,  while  you  're 
inside." 

Jack  did  not  accept  this  kind  offer.  His 
guide,  pointing  to  a  door,  said  :  "  Well,  dat  's 
Chimmie's.  I  ain't  goin'  in,  'cause  he 's  got 
scarlet  fever." 

"  The  devil  he  has  !  "  exclaimed  Jack. 

"  Yare ;  leastways  dat  's  what  dey  all  say. 
Wait  till  I  get  down-stairs  'fore  yer  open  de 
door.".  And  with  a  vain  whistle  to  Blathers  he 
disappeared  down-stairs. 

Rattleton  knocked  at  the  door  indicated  as 
"  Chimmie's,"  and  opened  it  in  response  to  a 
voice  within.  The  small  room  was  pretty  well 
lighted  by  a  lamp,  the  first  thing  that  Jack's 
eye  fell  on.  It  was  Varnum's  student-lamp; 
Jack  knew  it  at  once  from  a  caricature  he  had 
himself  drawn  on  the  shade.  A  hard-faced, 
slovenly  old  woman  was  sitting  near  a  stove, 
and  looked  at  him  in  surprise  as  he  entered. 

"  Is  this  Mrs.  Haggerty  ?  "  he  asked. 

"I  am,"  she  answered;  "what  do  you 
want?" 

"  Mr.  Varnum  sent  these  things,"  replied 
Rattleton.  "  He  could  n't  come  himself  because 
he  has  been  hurt,  and  is  in  the  hospital." 


Harvard  Stories.  35 

"  Is  that  so  ?  Sure,  I  'm  sorry  to  hear  that," 
said  the  woman  with  real  regret  in  her  tone. 
"  Mr.  Varnum  has  been  kind  to  us,  I  tell  you. 
He  's  helped  me  with  my  boy  Jimmy  here  ever 
since  he  's  been  sick." 

"  Dat  's  too  bad,"  complained  a  thin  voice 
from  the  corner.  On  the  other  side  of  the  lamp 
was  a  bed,  from  under  the  dirty  quilt  of  which 
protruded  a  little  pale  face.  "  Ain't  he  coming 
to  read  to  me?  What  's  de  matter  wid  him?" 

Jack  explained,  with  an  accompaniment  of 
sympathetic  "  tut-tuts  "  from  the  woman  and 
more  forcible  expressions  from  the  sick  boy. 

"  I  'm  obliged  to  him  for  the  things,"  said 
the  former,  as  Rattleton  handed  her  his  burden. 
She  looked  at  the  bottle  with  a  puzzled  and 
half-frightened  air. 

"  That 's  the  first  time  ever  Mr.  Varnum  give 
us  anythin'  like  that.  The  poor  young  feller 
must  be  dizzed,  by  the  hurt  of  him.  I  '11  hide 
that."  And  to  Rattleton's  horror  she  shoved 
the  bottle  of  Irroy  under  the  stove. 

"  Would  you  do  me  a  bit  of  a  favor,  sir," 
she  asked,  "  like  Mr.  Varnum  would  do?  " 

"  With  pleasure, — that  is  if  I  can,"  answered 
Jack,  cautiously,  wondering  what  she  wanted, 


36  Harvard  Stories. 

and  with  a  dread  that  it  might  be  in  the  nature 
of  religious  services. 

"  I  got  to  go  out  to  see  the  doctor,  and  I  'd 
take  it  friendly  would  you  sit  wid  th'  boy,  till  I 
get  back.  I  '11  not  be  long." 

"  Why,  yes,  of  course,"  said  Rattleton,  feel 
ing  how  much  worse  it  might  have  been. 

The  woman  took  down  her  shawl,  and  throw 
ing  it  over  her  head,  drew  out  the  bottle  she 
had  just  hidden,  and  tucked  it  under  her  arm 
out  of  sight.  "  I  '11  ask  the  doctor  whether  this 
is  good  for  the  kid,"  she  muttered.  "  If  Jamsey 
don't  need  it,  I  can  sell  it.  I  know  some  one 
else  it  ain't  good  for." 

Opening  the  door  she  first  looked  out  cau 
tiously,  then  hurried  down-stairs. 

"  Wonder  what  I  ought  to  do  now  ?  "  thought 
Rattleton.  Blathers  was  over  at  the  bed  mak 
ing  friends  with  the  patient. 

"  Dis  your  dog?  nice  one,  ain't  he.  Is  you 
one  o'  de  student  fellers  ?  " 

Jack  admitted  that  he  was,  knowing  that  the 
word  "  student "  was  used  in  its  generic,  not  its 
strict  sense. 

"  You  're  a  friend  o'  Mr.  Varnum's,  eh  ?  He  's 
nice,  ain't  he?" 


Harvard  Stories.  3  7 

Rattleton  agreed  emphatically  that  Varnum 
was  "  nice." 

"  Yare,"  continued  the  boy,  "  he  's  a  dais 
He  comes  in  and  reads  to  me  all  de  time.    Mr 
Talcot,  he  comes  too  sometimes ;  but  he  ain't 
as  nice  as  Mr.  Varnum.     Hullo,  you  been  to 
de  game  ?  " 

This  last  question  was  elicited  by  the  sight 
of  the  little  bit  of  crimson  ribbon  stuck  through 
Rattleton's  buttonhole, — an  insignium  brought 
from  the  seat  of  war.  In  cheerful  compliance 
with  the  demand  to  hear  all  about  it,  Jack  sat 
down  by  the  bed,  and  recounted,  as  well  as  he 
could,  all  the  details  of  the  afternoon's  battle. 
He  described  Jarvis'  splendid  run,  and  how  he 
had  scored  and  at  the  same  time  broken  his 
collar-bone  in  his  great  plunge  for  Harvard  and 
glory.  As  he  told  of  it  he  thought  of  Varnum 
lying  alone  in  the  hospital. 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  read  to  you  ?  "  sug 
gested  Jack,  when  the  foot-ball  subject  had  been 
exhausted. 

"You  bet,"  assented  the  patient.  "I  ain't 
heard  no  readin'  all  day.  Mudde.r  can't  read, 
and  Sis  ain't  been  here." 

"  Here  's  a  book  I  brought,"  said  Rattleton, 


38  Harvard  Stories. 

picking  up  the  bright-pictured  nursery  rhymes. 
"  I  don't  know  whether  it  's  interesting/'  he 
added,  doubtfully. 

For  a  little  while  he  read  the  classics  of 
Mother  Goose  in  his  gentle  drawl,  until  the  boy 
interrupted  him. 

"  Say,  what  sort  o'  baby's  stuff  is  dat,  any 
how  ?  I  don't  t'ink  much  o'  dat.  I  'd  sooner 
hear  Dare-Devil  Dick  dan  dat." 

"  I  am  inclined  to  agree  with  you/'  replied 
Rattleton.  "  Really,  you  see,  I  had  n't  read 
this  for  so  long  that  I  had  forgotten  just  what 
it  was  like.  Let  's  have  Dare-Devil  Dick." 

"  I  ain't  got  it  now.  I  give  it  away.  Mr. 
Varnum,  he  gi'  me  a  book  he  said  was  better, 
and  I  guess  it  is.  It  's  got  an  A-i  scrapper  in 
it,  too,  dat  could  do  Dare-Devil  Dick  wid  one 
hand.  He  did  n't  kill  so  many  people,  but  I 
t'ink  he  was  a  better  feller.  'Dere  it  is  at  de 
foot  o'  de  bed." 

Rattleton  took  up  the  book  indicated.  It 
was  Westward  Ho  !  He  sat  down  again  by 
the  bed,  and  opened  the  book  at  a  place  where 
there  was  a  mark.  Then  the  two  went  out 
from  the  little  squalid  room,  and  sailed  away 
over  the  Spanish  Main  with  tall  Amyas  Leigh 


Harvard  Stories.  39 

and  his  good  men  of  Devon.  For  over  half  an 
hour  the  little  invalid  street-arab  and  the  hare 
brained  Harvardian  were  both  wrapped  in  the 
spell  of  the  apostle  to  the  Anglo-Saxon  youths. 

Before  Rattleton  had  finished  reading  he 
heard  the  door  open  and  close,  and  a  rustle  of 
skirts.  Looking  up  he  saw,  not  the  old  woman, 
but  a  rather  gaudily-dressed  young  one.  Jack 
thought  he  had  seen  her  face  before  some 
where.  That  was  quite  possible,  I  regret  to 
say. 

"  Hullo,  Sis,"  said  the  boy.  "  Me  sister,"  he 
explained  to  Rattleton.  The  young  woman 
looked  with  surprise  at  the  latter,  as  he  rose  to 
his  feet.  Her  eye  glanced  at  his  stick  and  his 
bull  terrier,  and  all  over  his  clothes,  from  his 
shoes  up  ;  then  narrowly  scrutinized  the  face 
of  the  thoroughly  uncomfortable  youth. 
Though  the  shyest  of  men,  this  was  the  first 
time  he  had  ever  felt  very  bashful  in  such 
a  presence.  Then  she  asked,  disdainfully, 
"What  's  one  o'  your  kind  doing  here?" 

Jack  colored  to  his  hair.  "  I — I  don't  know 
exactly,  myself,"  he  stammered.  "  You  see  I 
came  to  take  the  place  of  my  friend  who  is  ill," 
he  explained,  apologetically. 


40  Harvard  Stories. 

11 1  know  you  now,"  said  the  girl,  her  look 
softening  a  little.  "  You  're  the  sport  that 
done  up  Dutch  Jake  for  kickin'  a  kid  one  night 
in  Stuber's  restaurant." 

"  I  have  been  in  there  occasionally,"  Jack 
confessed.  He  was  going  to  add  "  I  am  sorry 
to  say,"  but  remembered  that  might  be  rude. 
"  I  promised  Mrs. — er — Mrs.  Haggerty,  to  sit 
here  until  she  returned,"  he  continued,  "  but  I 
suppose  I  am  not  needed  now  ?  " 

"  No,  much  obliged  to  you,  I  '11  stay  with 
Jimmy  till  she  gets  back." 

Jack  took  up  his  hat  and  stick,  but  paused  a 
moment  awkwardly  as  he  turned  to  leave. 

"  Would  you — er — would  you  mind,"  he 
said,  hesitatingly,  "  my  —  er  —  my —  er  —  my 
lending  a  little  money — for  the  boy,  you 
know  ?  " 

The  girl  laughed  bitterly.  "  I  guess  we  can 
stand  it,"  she  said.  "  If  you  never  spent  your 
money  worse  than  that,  I  'm  mistaken.  You 
can  give  us  the  tin.  We  ain't  proud." 

"  Thanks,"  murmured  Jack,  vaguely  feeling 
that  he  was  being  helped  out  of  an  awkward 
attempt.  He  pulled  out  the  contents  of  his 


Harvard  Stories.  41 

pocket,  both  bills  and  change.  "  I  dare  say 
you  will  spend  it  better  than  I." 

Just  as  he  was  handing  the  money  to  the 
girl,  there  was  a  knock  on  the  door,  and  in 
answer  to  her  heedless  "  come  in  "  a  man 
entered.  It  was  a  classmate,  named  Talcot, 
whom  Jack  knew  only  by  sight  as  one  of  Var- 
num's  "  Y.  M.  C.  A.  pals."  He  stopped  in 
astonishment,  and  then  frowned,  as  he  recog 
nized  Rattleton,  and  saw  him  giving  the 
money. 

"  Mr.  Rattleton,  I  believe  ?  " 

Jack  looked  him  in  the  eye,  and  nodded 
stiffly. 

"  Don't  you  think,  sir,"  asked  the  worthy 
student,  with  an  indignant  sneer,  "  that  you 
had  better  confine  yourself  to  your  expen 
sive  clubs,  and  to  your  regular  haunts  in 
town  ?  " 

Jack  colored  again,  the  shade  of  his  little 
ribbon  ;  but  this  time  it  was  not  a  blush.  He 
bit  his  lip  for  a  moment,  and  gripped  his  stick 
hard. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  had,"  he  said  very  slowly,  as 
he  moved  towards  the  door.  "  But  I  will  tell 


42  Harvard  Stories. 

you  one  thing,  Mr.  Talcot,"  he  added  as  he 
paused  in  the  doorway.  "  I  am  an  awful  fool,  I 
know,  but  I  am  not  mean  enough  to  think  that 
every  damn  fool  must  be  a  damn  rascal.  I  will 
give  you  an  opportunity  later  to  apologize. 
Good-night,  Jimmy.  Come  along,  Blathers," 
and  he  strode  down-stairs. 

"  Pheugh,"  puffed  Rattleton,  as  he  got 
out  in  the  grateful  fresh  air  again.  "  I  got 
it  in  the  neck  twice  in  that  round.  Guess 
I  'd  better  keep  out  of  that  kind  of  a  ring 
hereafter." 

He  went  back  to  the  hospital,  and  found  that 
Varnum  was  asleep,  and  resting  comfortably. 
"  Now,  by  Jove,  Blathers,  we  '11  have  dinner !  " 
he  exclaimed,  joyfully,  as  he  left  the  hospital. 
"  I  'm  nearly  dead,"  he  thought,  "  we  '11  go  to  the 
Victoria  and  have  a  bang-up  din,  and  a  bot — 
No  we  won't,  either,"  he  suddenly  concluded, 
as  he  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  "  we  '11  go 
to  Billy  Parks."  He  had  a  bill  at  Park's.  There 
was  also  a  fair  prospect  of  his  walking  out  to 
Cambridge  that  night,  unless  he  met  a  friend  ; 
for  he  had  forgotten  to  keep  even  a  car-fare. 
Holworthy  always  declared  that  Rattleton 
would  forget  his  head  some  day,  and  Jack  now 


Harvard  Stories,  43 

expressed  a  fear  of  that  nature  himself,  when  he 
discovered  the  void  in  his  pockets. 

Annoyance  never  chummed  long  with  Jack 
Rattleton,  however,  and  it  had  left  him  by  the 
time  he  got  to  Park's  restaurant.  He  looked 
over  the  bill-of-fare  with  the  delight  of  antici 
pation  and  expended  a  good  deal  of  careful 
thought  in  his  selection. 

"  Let  's  see,  shall  I  fool  with  Little  Neck 
clams?  Yes,  I  can  have  those  while  they  are 
cooking  the  rest.  Mock  turtle  soup,  and  then 
filets  of  sole  ;  they  are  mock,  too,  but  they  are 
very  good.  Then  bring  me  some  of  that 
chicken  pasty.  Yes,  you  can  call  it  vol-au-vent 
if  you  like,  but  don't  stick  me  extra  for  the 
name ;  I  would  just  as  lief  eat  it  in  English. 
Then  I  want  half  a  black  duck.  Tell  the  cook 
it  is  for  me,  and  I  don't  want  coot.  After  that 
I  '11  decide  as  to  the  next  course.  Bring  me  a 
half  bottle  of  Mumm,  and  a  long  glass  with 
chopped  ice  in  it,  and  bring  that  right  away. 
Oh !  by  the  way,"  he  called,  as  the  waiter  was 
starting  off  with  the  order,  "  find  out  at  the  desk 
how  the  game  came  out.  Gad,  I  'd  nearly  for 
gotten  it ! " 

"  Why,  sir,"  replied  the  waiter,  "  have  n't  you 


44  Harvard  Stories. 

heard  ?  Too  bad.  Six  to  four.  Yale  made  a 
touch-down  in  the  last  five  minutes,  and  kicked 
a  goal  from  it." 

"  Wha-at !  "  exclaimed  Jack.  "  Hi !  waiter ! 
Hold  on  a  minute;  come  back  here!  Make 
that  order  one  English  chop  and  a  mug  of 
musty." 


THE   WAKING    NIGHTMARE   OF    HOLLIS 
HOLWORTHY. 

HOLWORTHY  had  accepted  an  invitation  to 
dine  at  the  Tremonts*  in  Boston.  There  was 
nothing  remarkable  about  that ;  but  so  had  Jack 
Rattleton,  and  that  was  remarkable.  He  had 
done  so  chiefly  on  Holworthy's  account.  He 
rarely  went  anywhere  in  Boston  society,  as  he 
held  that  to  do  so  was  a  waste  of  precious  time 
given  to  him  for  a  college  education.  He  could 
employ  his  evenings  much  better  in  Cambridge 
in  his  study,  with  a  select  party,  or  in  one  of 
the  clubs.  True,  he  often  went  over  the  bridge  ; 
but  that,  as  he  said,  was  always  with  some 
earnest  purpose,  such  as  a  study  of  the  drama 
at  the  Howard  Athenaeum,  or  to  attend  a  benefit 
of  Prof.  Murphy  or  some  other  revered  in 
structor.  He  never  frittered  away  his  moments 
in  the  vapidity  of  a  polite  ballroom.  Dinners 
he  especially  abhorred  (except,  of  course,  serious 
masculine  dinners) ;  chiefly  because  dinner  en 
gagements  had  to  be  kept,  and  worse,  kept 

45 


46  Harvard  Stories. 

punctually.  For  that  reason  they  were,  in  Jack's 
estimation,  as  bad  as  lectures  to  a  man  on  pro 
bation.  He  had  decided  to  bind  himself  to  this 
dinner,  however,  because  he  knew  the  Tremonts 
very  well,  and  happened  to  know  they  were 
going  to  invite  Holworthy,  and  also  happened 
to  know  that  some  one  else  was  going  to  be 
there  about  whom  Holworthy  did  not  like  to  be 
chaffed.  He  foresaw  a  possible  opportunity  of 
"  seeing  Hoi  do  the  devoted  and  breaking  him 
up  " ;  so  for  this  benevolent  purpose  he  deter 
mined  to  sacrifice  himself. 

Now,  Holworthy  knew  naught  of  this,  and 
when  Rattleton  casually  mentioned  to  him  that 
he  (Jack)  had  been  bidden  to  a  dinner  at  the 
Tremonts',  and  asked  him  for  the  most  ap 
proved  form  for  a  lying  regret,  he  used  all  his 
powers  of  persuasion  to  make  Rattleton  accept. 
He  preached  a  sermon  on  the  evil  effects  of 
Jack's  Bohemian  ways  and  neglected  oppor 
tunities.  He  said  he  was  going  to  that  same 
dinner  and  would  bring  Jack  back  in  a  cab. 
Finally,  after  much  objection,  and  after  getting 
as  many  bribes  out  of  his  mentor  as  possible, 
Rattleton  agreed  to  go,  and  also  agreed  to  do 
his  best  not  to  be  late. 


Harvard  Stories.  47 

On  this  latter  point  Hollis  spent  half  an  hour. 
He  insisted,  and  impressed  upon  Jack  in  every 
way,  that  a  man  could  do  nothing  more  out 
rageous  than  to  keep  his  hostess  waiting  for 
him  for  dinner.  Holworthy,  it  may  be  observed, 
had  been  brought  up  with  old-fashioned  ideas 
of  good  breeding.  His  father  had  taught  him 
never  to  fail,  or  be  late  at  a  dinner  or  a  duel, 
if  once  engaged  for  either.  He  cautioned 
Rattleton  not  to  put  his  faith  in  excuses,  for 
they  were  always  weak  and  as  naught.  "  Every 
body,"  said  he,  "  knows  you  are  lying,  and  you 
know  that  they  know  you  are  lying,  and  they 
know  that  you  know  that  they  know  you  are 
lying." 

"  That  's  so,"  acknowledged  Jack,  with  a 
melancholy  shake  of  his  head.  "  At  one  time, 
when  I  went  in  for  these  vanities,  I  used  to 
have  some  pretty  good  excuses,  but  they  are 
all  played  out  now.  I  have  broken  down  every 
cab  in  Cambridge,  given  every  horse  the  blind 
staggers,  and  ruined  the  reputation  for  sobriety 
of  every  driver.  I  have  broken  my  own  leg 
once  or  twice,  and  limped  painfully  into  the 
room ;  that  was  very  effective,  until  I  once 
favored  the  wrong  leg.  The  electric  cars  were 


48  Harvard  Stories. 

a  great  help  when  they  first  came  in,  but  I 
have  long  since  dislocated  every  trolly  on 
the  line." 

"Well,  above  all,"  said  Holworthy,  "if  you 
should  happen  to  be  late,  don't  try  that  worn  out 
chestnut  about  the  drawbridge  being  open,  as 
I  heard  a  poor  young  Freshman  do  the  other 
night,  with  a  happy  confidence." 

"  Do  you  take  me  for  a  Freshman  ? "  re 
sponded  Jack,  indignantly.  "  At  the  first  dinner 
I  went  to  when  I  first  came  up,  I  started  to  use 
the  drawbridge,  and  the  old  grad.  with  whom  I 
was  dining  took  the  words  out  of  my  mouth 
and  then  laughed  at  me." 

"  The  best  thing  for  you  to  do,"  suggested 
Hollis,  as  his  final  advice,  "  is  to  get  a  chain 
and  make  yourself  fast  to  your  bedstead  from 
now  until  the  evening  of  the  dinner.  I  '11  come 
round  and  unchain  you  when  it  is  time  to  dress. 
At  any  rate,  I  shall  endeavor  to  keep  you  in 
sight  all  that  day."  All  of  which  Rattleton 
'took  humbly,  and  promised  to  do  his  best. 

But  on  the  afternoon  of  the  appointed  day 
Jack  was  not  to  be  found.  Holworthy  hunted 
in  vain  for  him  at  all  his  usual  haunts,  and  in 
the  evening  began  dressing  himself  with  many 


Harvard  Stories.  49 

misgivings.  While  he  was  still  in  his  room,  his 
chum  Charles  Rivers  came  in  from  the  after 
noon's  work  in  the  University  boat.  Holworthy 
complained  to  him  of  the  way  in  which  the 
man  Rattleton  was  turning  his  hair  gray. 

m     ^^  **V*  ^""v.  ?**•          *    l^» 

"  Looking  for  Lazy  Jack,  are  you  ?  "  laughed 
Rivers,  reassuringly ;  "  well,  he  was  in  a  four- 
oar  above  the  Brighton  Abattoir  not  very  long 
ago.  I  could  n't  see  him,  because  I  had  to 
keep  my  eyes  in  the  boat,  but  I  could  hear 
him  objurgating  Steve  Hudson  for  hitting  up 
the  stroke.  We  passed  them  as  we  were 
pulling  back  from  Watertown.  It  was  n't  half 
an  hour  ago." 

Holworthy  made  a  short  remark  about 
Rattleton  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
story.  "  I  have  only  just  time  to  get  into  the 
Tremonts'  now,"  said  he,  as  he  threw  on  his 
cloak,  "  but  I  will  stop  at  the  shiftless  beggar's 
room  before  I  go  in.  He  may  possibly  have 
got  back  and  dressed." 

He  hurried  along  Harvard  Street,  and  on  the 
corner  ran  into  a  lot  of  men  coming  up  from 
the  river.  Sauntering  along  in  their  flannels, 
perfectly  happy  after  the  glorious  exercise  and 
bath,  he  saw  Hudson,  Randolph,  Stoughton, — 

4 


50  Harvard  Stories. 

and  the  long  form  of  Mr.  Rattleton,  quite  as 
usual,  hands  in  his  pockets,  head  thrown  back, 
a  smile  on  his  face,  content  in  his  soul,  and 
nothing  on  his  mind.  There  was  a  sudden 
change  in  his  aspect,  however,  when  he  caught 
sight  of  Holworthy's  silk  hat  and  white  tie. 
He  stopped,  aghast,  with  a  "  By  Jove !  "  and 
then,  "Oh,  the  devil!" 

"Yes,"  exclaimed  Holworthy,  hotly,  "  ancl 
that  is  just  where  you  will  go  some  day  from 
sheer  carelessness.  That  is  the  one  appoint 
ment  you  '11  keep, — though,  I  believe,  you  will 
be  late  for  your  own  funeral." 

"  Don't  wait  for  me,  old  man.  I  '11  be  there 
as  soon  as  I  can,"  answered  Jack,  ambiguously. 

"Wait  for  you!"  Hollis  cried,  "I  wash  my 
hands  of  you  !  If  you  choose  to  disgrace  your 
self,  it  is  none  of  my  business.  As  it  is  now, 
I  may  be  late  myself,"  and  he  boarded  a  car 
for  Boston. 

Now  it  was  so  that  Holworthy  did  not  know 
the  Tremonts.  They  were  old  friends  of  his 
family,  and  he  ought  to  have  called  on  them 
when  he  first  came  to  college  ;  but  he  had  not, 
and  they  had  been  abroad  since  his  Freshman 
year.  He  was  not  even  perfectly  certain  of 


Harvard  Stories.  5 1 

where  they  lived,  and  he  had  forgotten,  in  his 
hurry  on  leaving  his  room,  to  look  at  the  ad 
dress  on  the  invitation  !  He  thought  of  this 
fact  when  he  was  over  the  bridge  and  well  into 
Boston.  However,  he  pretty  clearly  remem 
bered  having  sent  his  acceptance  to  142  Marcon- 
wealth  Street.  It  was  either  142  or  242  ;  but 
to  make  sure  he  decided  to  look  it  up  in  a  Blue 
Book.  He,  therefore,  got  out  at  Park  Square 
and  went  into  a  druggist's,  to  consult  the  little 
directory. 

He  first  looked  up  142  Marconwealth  Street, 
and  found  the  name  of  Jones.  Then  he  looked 
for  242,  342,  442, — he  felt  there  was  a  42  in  the 
combination  somehow, — but  all  were  vacant 
of  Tremonts.  He  tried  the  42*3  of  other 
streets,  but  in  vain.  Then,  in  desperation,  he 
ran  down  the  whole  list  of  Tremonts.  Reader, 
dost  thou  know  aught  of  the  ancient  town  of 
Boston?  If  not,  look  some  time  into  a  Boston 
Blue  Book,  open  anywhere,  and  see  what  Hoi- 
worthy  saw.  In  Boston,  when  they  want  to 
describe  a  particularly  luxuriant  forest,  they 
say  that  its  leaves  are  as  the  Tremonts.  Hollis 
was  not  even  sure  of  the  first  name  of  his 
intended  host ;  he  thought  it  was  Mayflor. 


5  2  Harvard  Stories. 

There  were  three  Mayflor  Tremonts  on  Marcon- 
wealth  Street,  one  at  each  end  and  one  in  the 
middle.  Of  other  Tremonts  on  that  street 
there  were  fourteen. 

The  cold  sweat  stood  on  Holworthy's  brow 
in  the  most  approved  style.  It  was  already 
half  past  seven,  the  hour  of  dinner,  for  he  had 
spent  several  minutes  in  his  Blue  Book  re 
search.  Only  one  plan  occurred  to  him.  He 
bought  the  book  at  an  extravagant  price  and 
jumped  into  a  cab,  determined  to  hunt  down 
that  dinner  if  he  had  to  go  to  every  Tremont 
in  Boston.  He  began  with  the  Mayflor 
Tremonts.  When  the  servant  answered  the 
bell,  he  would  ask  if  there  was  a  dinner-party 
going  on  in  that  house.  He  was  not  sure 
whether  he  was  taken  for  a  lunatic  or  a  society 
reporter,  but  did  not  care  which.  None  of  the 
Mayflor  Tremonts  were  giving  dinners  on  that 
evening.  Then  he  began  at  one  end  of  Mar- 
conwealth  Street,  and  tried  every  Tremont 
in  order. 

All  this  time  the  minutes  were  joining  the 
past  eternity,  and  he,  Hollis  Holworthy,  was 
getting  later  and  later  for  dinner.  At  the  sixth 
house,  however,  as  a  maid  opened  the  door,  he 


Harvard  Stories.  5  3 

heard  the  sounds  of  gentle  revelry  and  small 
talk,  and  his  heart  leaped  for  joy.  The  maid 
said,  "Yes,  we  have  a  party  here  to-night." 
He  rushed  back  and  paid  for  his  cab,  not  stop 
ping  for  the  paltry  change  due  him,  amounting 
to  half  that  he  gave.  He  left  his  coat  and  hat 
in  the  hall  to  save  time  and,  without  asking 
further  questions,  strode  by  the  maid  into  the 
dining-room.  He  was  twenty-five  minutes  late, 
and  glad  they  had  not  waited  for  him. 

Going  up  to  the  hostess,  he  began,  "  Mrs. 
Tremont,  I  can't  tell  you  how  mortified — "  the 
table  was  filled  !  There  was  no  vacant  chair ! 
Then  he  noticed  that  the  hostess  was  looking 
a  little  blank,  though  smiling  and  polite.  "  I 
beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  as  his  heart  sank, 
"  have  I  made  some  awful  mistake  ?  My  name 
isHolworthy  ;  did  you  not  invite  me  to  dinner 
this  evening,  or  have  I  got  the  wrong  house  ? 
— or  the  wrong  night? 

"  I  am  afraid  you  have  made  a  mistake,  Mr. 
Holworthy,"  replied  the  lady,  "  and  I  think  it 
must  be  in  the  house." 

"Well,  can  you  tell  me,"  asked  the  blushing 
and  desperate  youth,  trying  to  keep  a  groan 
out  of  his  question,  "  whether  you  happen  to 


54  Harvard  Stories. 

know  of  any  other  Mrs.  Tremont  who  is  giving 
a  dinner  to-night  ?  I  have  lost  the  address,  and 
I  am  dinnerless  in  the  streets  of  Boston." 

The  hostess  laughed  a  little  at  Holworthy's 
despair,  but  relieved  him  by  saying  that  her 
cousin,  Mrs.  Mayflor  Tremont,  had  said  some 
thing  that  day  about  a  dinner. 

"  But  I  have  been  to  the  houses  of  three  Mrs. 
Mayflor  Tremonts  on  this  street,"  protested 
poor  Hollis.  "  Is  there  another  one?  " 

"  Why,  Hoi,"  spoke  up  Ernest  Gray,  an  inti 
mate  friend,  who  was  present  to  Holworthy's 
great  comfort,  "  that  is  where  Jack  Rattleton 
told  me  that  you  and  he  were  going — the  May 
flor  Tremont's,  142  Marconwealth  Street." 

"That  is  just  what  I  thought,"  said  Hoi- 
worthy,  "  but  the  Blue  Book  gives  one  Jones 
at  142." 

"  Oh  !  "  explained  Mrs.  Tremont,  "  they  have 
only  just  moved  in,  and  their  name  has  not 
been  changed  in  the  Blue  Book." 

"  Then  that  was  my  ruin,"  Hollis  exclaimed. 
"  Thank  you  very  much,  indeed.  I  hope  you 
will  forgive  me  for  making  such  a  scene,"  and 
he  retreated  with  as  much  dignity  and  haste  as 
could  be  combined.  He  was  too  much  relieved 


Harvard  Stories.  5  5 

to  mind  Gray's  remark,  "  That  is  one  on  you, 
Hoi,"  or  the  laugh  that  he  heard  as  he  got  to 
the  front  door. 

His  cab  had  only  moved  to  the  corner,  and 
he  hailed  it  again.  The  driver  repaid  his  recent 
generosity  by  getting  him  to  142  in  less  than 
three  minutes. 

Let  us  now  see  how  it  fared  with  Jack,  the 
grasshopper.  At  the  moment  when  Holworthy 
took  the  car  in  Harvard  Square,  there  was  seen 
a  rare  phenomenon  of  nature ; — Rattleton 
showed  acute  animation.  He  went  up  Har 
vard  Street  with  two  leaps  to  a  block.  Riley's 
cab,  as  usual,  was  standing  at  the  corner  of 
Holyoke  Street,  and  as  Jack  dashed  by,  he 
yelled  for  Riley.  The  latter  came  tumbling 
out  of  Foster's,  and,  in  forty-three  seconds  and 
two  fifths,  had  his  chariot  at  the  door  of  Rattle- 
ton's  staircase.  Both  Riley  and  his  horse  are 
as  well  drilled  to  emergencies  as  are  the  men 
and  steeds  of  a  fire-engine.  Jack  reached  his 
room  in  record  time,  and  only  stopped  to  wash 
his  face  and  hands.  He  grabbed  his  evening 
clothes  and  shoes,  a  "  boiled  "  shirt  and  tie, 
and  was  in  the  cab  almost  as  soon  as  it  got  to 
the  door. 


56  Harvard  Stories. 

"  Riley,"  said  he,  "  get  me  to  142  Marcon- 
wealth  Street  before  Mr.  Holworthy,  and  I  '11 
try  and  pay  what  I  owe  you  this  week.  It  is  a 
matter  of  life  and  death,  and  I  expect  you  this 
day  to  do  your  duty.  Don't  be  beaten  by  an 
electric  car." 

The  latter  part  of  this  exhortation  had  its 
effect.  Riley  follows  the  Golden  Rule 
and  never  duns  anybody,  but  his  weak  spots 
are  his  professional  pride  and  his  sporting 
blood.  Touch  him  there,  and  you  will  travel 
in  his  cab  as  in  the  car  of  Phcebus.  He  has 
never  lost  the  day  when  it  was  possible  for  man 
and  horse  to  save  it.  Ned  Burleigh  used  to  say 
that  he  would  back  Riley's  nag  against  Salvator, 
provided  the  former  should  have  behind  him 
the  cab,  Riley,  and  a  load.  On  this  particular 
occasion  he  fully  maintained  his  reputation. 

While  rushing  towards  Boston,  Rattleton 
proceeded  to  dress.  He  at  first  complimented 
himself  on  not  having  forgotten  anything ;  but, 
when  he  came  to  his  shirt,  behold,  there  were 
no  studs  !  He  had  been  wearing  a  soft  cheviot, 
and  had  only  a  collar  button.  The  absence  of 
sleeve  buttons  would  probably  not  be  noticed, 
but  he  could  not  go  to  dinner  with  a  studless 


Harvard  Stories.  5  7 

chest.  For  a  minute  he  thought  the  game  was 
up,  wrecked  by  such  a  little  thing.  Then  an 
inspiration  came  to  him.  With  his  knife  he 
cut  three  little  pearl  buttons  out  of  his  under 
shirt,  leaving  a  piece  attached  to  each  button. 
These  he  pushed  through  his  shirt,  and  they 
were  held  in  place  by  the  pieces  of  flannel  at 
their  backs.  It  had  always  been  suspected  by 
his  friends  that  Jack  Rattleton  really  had 
brains,  though  he  never  made  the  exertion  to 
use  them.  It  had  even  been  said  that  some 
time  in  an  emergency  he  might  show  positive 
genius.  He  looked  at  those  improvised  studs 
with  satisfaction,  as  he  reasoned  to  himself 
that  they  would  be  taken  for  imitation  buttons 
and,  therefore,  go  unnoticed.  If  they  should  be 
recognized  as  real,  that  would  be  all  the 
better ;  it  would  look  like  a  new  fashion,  and 
one  of  most  "  swagger  "  simplicity.  He  tied 
his  cravat  all  right  by  feeling ;  but  he  had  not 
thought  of  a  hair-brush,  and  his  hair  was  all 
damp  and  on  end  after  his  shower-bath  at  the 
boat-house.  This  did  not  trouble  him,  how 
ever,  as  he  was  sure  of  finding  a  brush  at  the 
Tremonts,  in  the  room  where  the  men  would 
leave  their  coats. 


58  Harvard  Stories. 

He  had  hardly  finished  this  flying  toilet 
when  he  arrived  at  the  house,  not  two  minutes 
late.  He  instructed  Riley  to  come  back  at 
ten,  and  that  the  return  trip  would  be  "  on 
Mr.  Holworthy."  In  the  dressing-room  there 
were  hair-brushes,  as  he  had  expected,  and  he 
went  down  to  the  drawing-room  in  faultless 
order,  feeling  that  he  had  made  a  great  dis 
covery.  Undoubtedly  a  cab  was  just  the 
place  for  a  hurried  man  of  business,  like  him 
self,  to  dress. 

He  called  the  attention  of  his  hostess  to  his 
punctuality,  and  assured  her  that  such  a  thing 
in  him  was  a  sign  of  the  greatest  devotion. 
"You  see,"  said  he,  "  when  I  am  late,  every 
one  says,  '  Oh,  it  is  only  that  shiftless  Jack 
Rattleton,'  and  when  I  am  on  time,  I  want  the 
credit  for  it.  Now  it  is  nothing  particularly 
praiseworthy  for  a  man  like  Holworthy  to  be 
on  time.  If  he  should  ever  slip  up,  it  might 
well  be  put  down  as  an  insult,  because  he 
never  forgets  or  dawdles.  Some  day  his  good 
reputation  will  be  the  ruin  of  him.  I  think  my 
system  is  the  better."  After  which  airy  per 
siflage,  Rattleton  noticed  that  Holworthy  was 
not  in  the  room  ;  and  ten  minutes  later,  when 


Harvard  Stories.  59 

the  latter  was  still  absent,  he  began  to  wish  he 
had  let  airy  persiflage  alone.  Everybody  else 
had  arrived.  Five  minutes  more  went  by,  and 
when  twenty  minutes  were  gone  and  no  Hoi- 
worthy,  Jack  went  to  Mrs.  Tremont  and  told 
her  how  Hollis  had  left  Cambridge  in  plenty  of 
time,  and,  in  fact,  had  refused  to  wait  for  him. 
"  Something  must  have  happened  to  him,"  he 
said,  rather  anxiously,  "  and  I  am  prepared  to 
back  up  as  strictly  true  any  excuse  he  may 
offer,  for  I  can  swear  he  left  Cambridge  more 
than  an  hour  ago,  and  was  coming  right  here." 

"  No  accident  to  himself,  I  hope,"  replied 
Mrs.  Tremont.  "  At  any  rate,  I  think  we  had 
better  go  in,  as  I  am  sure  Mr.  Holworthy  will 
feel  more  comfortable  if  we  do  not  wait  for 
him." 

So  in  they  went,  Rattleton  taking  her  whom 
Holworthy  should  have  taken,  for  Jack  was 
one  of  two  extra  men. 

And  Hollis,  where  was  he?  Suffering  in 
the  cab. 

Ten  minutes  later,  as  he  went  up  the  stoop  of 
142,  an  insidious  policy  stole  into  Holworthy 's 
brain.  He  had  lost  the  invitation  and  mis 
taken  the  number  of  the  house, — why  should 


60  Harvard  Stories. 

he  not  have  mistaken  instead  the  hour  of 
dinner?  Was  that  not  better  than  to  be 
ignorant  of  the  address  of  his  hostess,  upon 
whom  he  ought  to  have  called  long  before 
this  ?  He  was  in  good  time  for  an  eight 
o'clock  dinner,  and  most  dinners  are  at  eight 
nowadays.  Then,  too,  Rattleton  would  be 
just  about  half  an  hour  late,  and  would  prob 
ably  be  utterly  unconcerned  about  it,  and  offer 
no  excuses.  That  would  lend  color  to  a  sus 
picion  that  Mrs.  Tremont  had  herself  made 
the  mistake,  in  writing  some  of  the  invitations. 
He  would  not  need  to  tell  any  actual  untruth 
— to  say  distinctly  that  he  thought  dinner  was 
at  eight.  He  need  only  imply  it,  and  apolo 
gize  for  his  evident  mistake.  It  would  be  a 
pretty  poor  plea  for  a  very  bad  crime,  but  at 
any  rate  it  was  a  more  polite  explanation  than 
the  real  one,  and  less  ridiculous.  Oh,  Hollis 
Holworthy,  that  thou  shouldst  thus  forget  the 
veritas,  the  watchword  of  thine  Alma  Mater  ! 

In  the  dressing-room  was  a  straw  hat  with  a 
colored  ribbon.  "  Hullo,"  he  surmised,  "  Jack 
is  here.  Wonder  if  the  rest  of  his  outfit  corre 
sponds,  and  he  has  come  in  his  blazer."  As 
he  went  into  the  dining-room,  his  eye  first 


Harvard  Stories.  61 

lighted  on  that  interesting  person  whom  Mr. 
Davis  has  capitally  termed  "  A  Girl  He 
Knew."  On  her  right  was  Rattleton,  on  her 
left  a  vacant  chair.  She  must  have  had  to  go 
in  alone  ! 

With  a  look  of  gentle  surprise  and  concern, 
that,  he  flattered  himself,  was  rather  well  done, 
he  went  up  and  saluted  Mrs.  Tremont. 

"  Have  I  been  mistaken/'  he  asked,  "  in 
thinking  that  dinner  was  at  eight  o'clock,  or 
has  my  watch  betrayed  me?"  There  was  no 
fib  in  this  and  what  could  be  more  diplo 
matic  ? 

Mrs.  Tremont  stood  it  for  a  second,  then  she 
happened  to  catch  sight  of  Rattleton's  face. 
It  was  too  much  for  her,  and  she  burst  out 
laughing.  After  all,  it  was  the  best  thing  to 
do. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Holworthy,  tell  us  what  really 
happened,  and  we  will  believe  and  forgive  you. 
Jack,  here,  has  testified  to  the  time  of  your 
departure  from  Cambridge,  and  you  must  fill 
in  the  interim  somehow." 

Then  Hollis  made  a  clean  breast  of  the 
whole  thing,  and  made  the  tale  of  his  suffer 
ings  as  moving  as  possible,  finishing  with  a 


62  Harvard  Stories. 

request  for  some  dust  to  put  on  his  head.  He 
was  so  humble  that  even  Rattleton  was  sorry 
for  him ;  but  the  memory  of  many  of  Hoi- 
worthy's  lectures  came  to  Jack  and  he  could 
not  resist  suggesting  to  Mrs.  Tremont,  as  Hol- 
lis  took  his  seat,  that  as  Holly's  blood  had  run 
so  cold  she  ought  to  have  some  soup  warmed 
up  for  him. 

That  evening,  on  the  way  back  to  Cambridge 
in  the  cab,  was  spent  one  of  the  pleasantest 
half  hours  of  Rattleton's  life.  He  told  Hoi- 
worthy  how  a  man  could  do  nothing  more  out 
rageous  than  to  keep  his  hostess  waiting  for 
dinner.  He  said  he  had  a  very  good  chain 
that  he  used  for  his  dog  Blathers,  but  which 
he  could  lend  Hollis.  He  warned  him  some 
day  that  he  would  surely  go  to  the  devil  by 
his  careless  habits.  "Above  all,"  said  he, 
"  never  put  your  faith  in  excuses.  Everybody 
knows  you  are  lying,  and  even  if  you  don't 
know  that  they  know,  etc.,  you  sometimes 
find  out." 

Holworthy  smoked  his  cigar  vigorously  with 
out  saying  a  word  in  reply.  When  they  arrived 
at  their  club  in  Cambridge  he  asked,  resignedly: 
"Well,  what  do  you  want  for  supper?" 


Harvard  Stories.  63 

"  I  know  I  ought  to  take  champagne,"  an 
swered  Jack,  graciously,  "but  as  you  are  so 
very  humble  and  I  don't  really  want  any  more 
fizz,  I  will  let  you  off  with  a  rarebit  and  beer. 
But  don't  you  ever  jump  on  me  again." 


THE  PLOT  AGAINST  BULLAM. 

SOMETHING  had  to  be  done  about  the  case  of 
Sergeant  Bullam.  For  years  he  had  ruled  his 
beat  with  a  rod  of  iron.  Many  a  noble  spirit 
had  fallen  a  prey  to  his  desire  for  notoriety  and 
promotion.  The  slightest  offence,  the  most 
innocent  or  technical  infringement  of  the  law, 
was  sufficient  pretext  for  him  to  indulge  his 
thirst  for  student  incarceration.  The  lettres  de 
cachet  and  the  Bastile  were  nothing  to  Bullam 
and  the  Cambridge  jail.  In  the  dark  days  when 
the  ungrateful  University  town  went  prohibi 
tion,  the  tyrant  had  revelled  in  his  opportuni 
ties.  He  had  raided  several  of  the  club-houses 
and  had  charged  Hollis  Holworthy,  the  presi 
dent  of  one  of  the  clubs,  with  keeping  a  liquor 
nuisance.  Of  course  this  little  joke  on  the 
superb  Holworthy  had  exceedingly  pleased  all 
his  friends  ;  but  it  did  not  excuse  Bullam.  There 
had  been  isolated  attempts  at  resistance  and 
vengeance,  and  these  had  sometimes  been  sue- 


Harvard  Stories.  65 

cessful,  but  never  yet  had  Bullam  suffered  any 
great  public  downfall  worthy  of  his  oppression. 
He  was  wary  to  a  high  degree,  and  never  ven 
tured  into  the  sacred  Yard,  where  his  uniform 
would  have  been  only  blue  cloth  and  his  buttons 
common  brass. 

The  crafty  Stoughton,  however,  had  a  scheme. 
He  had  been  pondering  over  the  case  for  some 
time,  and  Dick  rarely  pondered  for  nothing. 
He  was  known  to  his  intimates  as  Machiavelli, 
called  Mac  the  Dago  for  short.  This  particular 
plan  was  indeed  worthy  of  his  great  namesake. 
He  imparted  it  to  Jack  Randolph,  who  had  the 
heaviest  personal  score  against  Bullam,  and, 
therefore,  the  best  title  to  share  in  his  humilia 
tion.  They  fixed  the  following  night  as  Bui- 
lam's  Ides  and  announced  it  to  all  their  friends. 
They  posted  it  in  all  the  clubs,  and  in  everyway 
spread  the  glad  tidings  that  on  the  morrow 
Bullam  should  be  utterly  cast  down.  They 
fixed  the  hour  at  about  ten  o'clock  in  the  even 
ing,  and  exhorted  the  people  to  gather  them 
selves  together  in  a  great  concourse  to  see  their 
enemy  made  a  cause  of  laughter  unto  them. 
The  promise  of  the  avenging  prophets  was  to 
conduct  a  triumph  along  the  whole  length  of 


66  Harvard  Stories. 

Harvard  Street  and  to  lead  in  their  train  the 
haughty  Bullam,  humbled  and  a  captive ;  he 
should  even  act  as  their  body-guard  if  they  so 
chose,  and  prevent  all  interference  by  his  broth 
ers  of  the  force.  How  this  millennial  spectacle 
was  to  be  brought  about,  they  kept  carefully 
secret. 

There  is,  perhaps,  in  every  man  a  certain  ele 
ment  of  moral  obliquity,  which,  as  he  is  put 
through  any  civilizing  process,  is  squeezed  out 
of  him  from  time  to  time  in  varying  forms  and 
quantities.  It  comes  to  the  surface,  makes  itself 
acutely  felt  and  apparent  for  a  short  time,  and 
then  drops  off, — just  as  a  physical  poison  would 
act  in  his  veins.  At  any  rate,  this  is  the  only 
theory  that  can  explain  the  highly  reprehensible 
but  firmly  established  custom  among  Harvard 
Freshmen  of  "  ragging  "  signs.  "  Ragging," 
uninitiated  reader,  simply  means  stealing.  What 
amusement,  profit,  or  glory  the  Freshman  finds 
in  it  has  never  been  ascertained.  He  cannot 
tell  exactly  himself,  and,  as  soon  as  he  ceases  to 
be  a  Freshman,  wonders  why  he  ever  indulged 
in  the  habit.  Perhaps  the  charm  lies  in  the 
chance  of  getting  into  a  scrape ;  but  in  most 
instances  a  sign  can  be  taken  with  perfect  safety. 


Harvard  Stories.  67 

Now  I  cannot  possibly  think  why  I — but  that 
is  another  story,  as  Mr.  Kipling  says. 

I  am  going  to  digress,  however,  for  one  story 
in  this  connection.  Ned  Burleigh  used  to  tell 
it  on  his  room-mate,  Steve  Hudson.  Steve 
always  denied  it  vehemently,  and  declared  that 
Burleigh  did  not  even  deserve  the  credit  of  a 
fabricator ;  that  the  story  had  been  in  college 
for  years,  and  he  had  heard  it  told  by  a  '42  man. 
Ned  held  that  made  no  difference;  that  some  one 
had  to  carry  it  for  our  four  years  and  Steve  was 
the  best  man  for  the  position.  According  to 
him,  Hudson,  in  walking  back  from  Boston  on 
a  dark  night  in  Freshman  year,  spied  a  tempt 
ing  sign  hanging  on  a  door-post.  He  secured 
it  by  some  difficult  climbing,  and  tucking  it 
under  his  overcoat,  went  on  his  way.  On 
arriving  in  his  room  he  announced  that  he  had 
a  prize,  and,  unbuttoning  his  coat,  he  displayed 
to  Burleigh's  delighted  gaze,  his  only  evening 
suit  and  the  sign  "  Fresh  Paint." 

This  practice  of  stealing  signs  had  made 
Bullam's  meat  of  many  a  Freshman.  In  fact, 
the  diligent  Sergeant  depended  upon  it  for 
most  of  his  nvdot,  so  Dick  Stoughton  had 
determined  to  play  upon  his  keenness  in  this 


68  Harvard  Stories. 

respect,  and  use  a  sign  as  the  bait  with  which 
to  hook  his  fish.  On  the  appointed  evening  he 
and  Randolph  went  to  Cambriclgeport,  and 
bought  a  barber's  pole.  They  were  careful  to 
get  a  receipted  bill  from  the  barber  with  an 
accurate  description  of  the  pole.  The  latter 
was  marked  with  the  barber's  name  in  gilt 
letters,  and  was  small  enough  to  be  nearly,  but 
not  quite,  covered  with  an  overcoat.  Thus 
provided,  they  started  back  for  Cambridge 
proper  (the  Port  being  usually  known  as  Cam 
bridge  improper)  along  Main  Street,  keeping  as 
much  as  possible  in  the  shadows.  At  the  end 
of  half  a  dozen  blocks,  they  came  on  a  police 
man,  and  promptly  crossed  the  street  in  a  most 
alluring  manner.  The  vigilant  officer,  noticing 
the  suspicious  shape  of  Randolph's  overcoat 
held  under  his  arm,  gave  chase.  The  end  of 
the  pole  stuck  out  from  the  coat,  and  it  was 
useless  for  the  students  to  protest  that  they  had 
nothing  that  did  not  belong  to  them.  They 
assured  their  captor  that  the  pole  was  theirs, 
that  they  had  paid  for  it  and  could  prove  the 
fact ;  but  he  insisted  upon  taking  them  before 
the  captain  of  the  precinct. 

The  captain  had  had  a  hard  day,  and  was 


Harvard  Stories.  69 

preparing  to  go  to  bed  when  they  were  brought 
before  him.  He  was  tired  and  cross,  and  his 
humor  was  not  improved  by  this  new  arrival. 
When  Stoughton  showed  the  receipt,  however, 
he  at  once  discharged  the  prisoners  with  much 
pleasure,  and  reprimanded  the  overcareful 
officer. 

The  two  then  went  on  to  the  next  guardian 
of  Main  Street,  and  he  bit  equally  well.  They 
warned  him  of  the  result,  and  gave  him  their 
word  of  honor  that  the  pole  was  not  stolen. 
He  hesitated,  and  for  a  moment  they  feared 
that  he  was  going  to  be  decent  enough  to 
believe  them.  But  he  was  a  new  and  zealous 
recruit  on  the  force  and  the  bait  was  too  invit 
ing  ;  so  he  decided  not  to  trust  them.  He  was 
as  polite  as  possible  about  it  and  when  he  even 
apologized  for  not  taking  their  word,  they  came 
near  melting  and  showing  the  receipt.  But 
the  fall  of  Bullam  was  not  to  be  averted, 
simply  because  gentler  tyrants  might  be  en 
trained.  So  back  they  went  to  headquarters. 

The  captain  came  down  in  a  red  dressing- 
gown,  the  skirt  of  which  flapped  idly  in  tne 
breeze  that  came  through  an  open  window  in 
the  office.  His  bare  feet  were  shoved  into  a 


70  Harvard  Stories. 

pair  of  carpet  slippers,  each  foot  in  the  wrong 
slipper.  With  one  hand  he  held  a  candle  that 
wiggled  in  the  candle-stick  and  dropped  wax 
on  his  wrist,  and  with  the  other  hand  tried  to 
keep  the  dressing-gown  about  his  person.  His 
frame  of  mind  faithfully  carried  out  the  spirit 
of  the  picture.  To  any  guilty  prisoner  he 
would  have  been  indeed  a  terrifying  spectacle ; 
but  he  could  do  nothing  to  the  innocent  and 
insulted  gentlemen  who  had  been  haled  before 
him.  He  therefore  relieved  himself  on  their 
captor.  The  poor  man  got  such  a  dressing 
down,  that  when  they  left  the  office,  Randolph 
presented  him  with  full  forgiveness,  a  dollar 
bill,  and  the  advice  to  learn  as  soon  as  possible 
to  tell  a  Senior  from  a  Freshman. 

The  next  policeman  they  met  was  old  George 
Smith.  He  held  them  up  with  a  look  of  sur 
prise,  and  a  remark  that  he  thought  they  had 
been  in  college  too  long  to  be  "  ragging " 
barber's  poles.  When  they  explained  to  him, 
however,  he  of  course  believed  them,  and 
grinned  as  he  perceived  something  in  the  wind. 

"It  is  lucky  that  was  George/'  said  Stough- 
ton,  as  they  went  on.  "  If  we  had  struck  a  strange 
cop,  who  thought  we  were  liars,  we  should  have 


Harvard  Stories.  7 1 

brought  down  the  wrong  bird.  That  police 
captain  is  just  exactly  primed  and  loaded  to 
the  muzzle,  and  all  ready  to  go  off.  Now 
for  Bullam  !  " 

They  had  now  reached  Quincy  Square,  and 
saw  the  fated  form  of  Bullam  loom  in  the 
offing.  They  made  for  him  boldly ;  there  was 
no  need  of  finessing  in  his  case.  The  moment 
his  hawk  eye  caught  sight  of  the  ill-concealed 
pole,  he  bore  down  on  them  with  a  grim  joy. 

"  What  have  you  got  under  that  coat  ?  "  he 
demanded  in  his  usual  suave  tone. 

"  None  of  your  business,"  responded  Jack 
Randolph,  with  an  inward  chuckle. 

"  It  is  n't,  eh  !  Do  you  think  I  can't  see  that 
pole  a-sticking  out  there  ?  Do  you  think  you 
can  steal  signs  under  my  very  nose?  You 
come  along  with  me  now,  and  we  '11  see 
whether  it  's  none  of  my  business." 

"  If  your  insulting  remarks  refer  to  this  bar 
ber-pole,"  replied  Randolph,  producing  the 
pole  with  ostentatious  confidence,  "  allow  me 
to  tell  you  that  it  belongs  to  us,  and  we  have 
a  perfect  right  to  carry  it  wherever  we  please. 
Although,  as  I  said  before,  it  is  none  of  your 
business,  I  will  condescend  to  let  you  know 


72  Harvard  Stories. 

that  I  bought  it  lately,  and  have  a  receipt  for 
it  in  my  pocket." 

"  You  can't  give  me  no  such  bluff  as  that," 
sneered  Bullam.  "  You  can  tell  that  to  the 
captain  of  the  precinct.  I  '11  give  you  a  chance 
to  show  your  receipt." 

"  Look  here,  my  man,"  (nothing  makes  a 
gentleman  of  Bullam's  class  more  angry  than 
to  call  him  "  my  man  ")  answered  Stoughton, 
"you  don't  deserve  it  after  the  language  you 
have  used  to  us,  but,  nevertheless,  I  give  you 
fair  warning  not  to  do  anything  of  the  kind. 
If  you  take  us  to  the  captain,  you  will  get  into 
trouble." 

Bullam  was  beside  himself.  The  more  they 
said  to  him  the  more  furious  he  became,  and 
finally  threatened  to  use  his  club  "  if  they  gave 
him  any  more  guff."  So,  in  high  delight,  the 
two  injured  youths  took  their  way  a  third  time 
towards  the  house  of  the  captain. 

The  policeman  who  had  last  had  them  in 
charge  turned  quickly  away  as  they  passed, 
and  shoved  his  handkerchief  into  his  mouth. 
It  was  a  grateful  balm  to  the  new  man  to  see 
a  veteran  going  into  the  same  trap  that  had 
just  lacerated  him.  Moreover,  Bullam  was 


Harvard  Stories.  73 

quite  as  unpopular  in  the  force  as  with  the 
students. 

All  was  dark  in  the  house  where  lay  the  un 
easy  head  that  wore  the  crown  of  the  precinct. 
Bullam  rang  the  bell,  with  a  ferocious  glare  at 
his  prisoners,  as  though  tolling  their  death 
knell.  A  minute  afterwards  a  window  opened 
above,  and  a  head  was  thrust  forth. 

"  Who  is  there?"  bellowed  a  voice,  now 
familiar  to  our  much-arrested  pair. 

"  Sergeant  Bullam,  sir,  with  an  arrest." 

Dick  and  Jack  took  care  to  stand  under  a 
gas-lamp. 

"  Have  you  got  two  men  there  with  a  bar 
ber's  pole  ?  "  asked  the  voice,  rising  from  a  roar 
to  a  shriek. 

"Yes,  sir,"  chuckled  Bullam,  gleefully,  mis 
taking  the  direction  of  his  superior's  wrath. 
"  I  caught " 

"  Did  n't  they  tell  you  that  it  was  their  prop 
erty,  bought  and  paid  for  ?  " 

"  Yes,  they  had  some  cock-and-bull " 

"Stop!"  thundered  the  captain,  "you  're 

too ready  to  think  every  gentleman  you 

meet  is  a  liar.  Don't  you  be  so hot 

after  your  promotion.  "  If  you  '11  give  more 


74  Harvard  Stories. 

attention  to  your  important  duties,  and  less  to 
making  capital  out  of  the  students,  you  '11  get 
ahead  faster.  Now  you  go  all  the  way  back 
with  these  gentlemen,  and  see  that  they  are 
not  troubled  a^ny  more.  If  they  are  brought 
here  again  I  '11  know  who  to  blame  for  it.  I  '11 
have  you  up  for  a  breach  of  special  duty,  and 
make  it  hot  for  you.  What  's  more,  you  treat 
them  civilly.  I  '11  have  no  bullies  on  my  squad. 
If  this  man  gives  you  boys  any  lip,  come  around 
and  see  me  about  it  in  the  morning.  Now  get 
out  of  here,  and  you,  Bullam,  mind  what  I  tell 
you,  and  be careful." 

All  the  blanks  in  the  foregoing  address  were 
filled  in  with  deep  color,  and  the  window  went 
down  with  a  slam  that  heavily  sank  in  the 
sickened  soul  of  the  astonished  Bullam. 

"  Come  along,  sergeant,"  cried  Randolph, 
cheerfully,  shouldering  the  barber-pole.  He 
and  Dick  led  the  way  back  through  Quincy 
Square,  whistling  the  "  Rogue's  March  "  and  the 
"  Pere  de  la  Victoire."  The  overwhelmed  Bul 
lam  fell  in  behind.  As  they  turned  down 
Harvard  Street,  he  walked  slowly  and  tried  to 
drop  back  to  a  distance  which  would  disguise 
his  connection  with  the  parade  ;  but  his  con- 


Harvard  Stories.  75 

querors  allowed  no  such  break  in  the  procession. 
They  slowed  down,  too,  and  kept  about  ten 
feet  in  front  of  him. 

On  the  first  corner  of  Harvard  Street  w 
stationed  three  or  four  small  bgys  (the 
sionally  useful  Cambridge  muckers)  employed 
as  vedettes.  Upon  the  approach  of  the  triumph, 
they  dashed  off  to  the  different  clubs  and  gather 
ing-places  where  the  long  oppressed  people 
were  eagerly  awaiting  the  arrival  of  Bullam 
in  chains.  These  all  flocked  to  Harvard  Street, 
Hudson  bringing  his  cornet,  Dixey  a  pair  of 
cymbals,  and  Ned  Burleigh  flourishing  the 
drum-major's  baton,  with  which  he  had  done 
mighty  service  in  the  last  torch-light  pro 
cession.  It  was  going  to  be  the  most  glorious 
triumph  ever  seen  in  the  classic  shades  since  - 
Washington  rode  through  them  on  his  white 
charger. 

But,  alas !  what  a  trivial  thing  may  upset  the 
grandest  strategy ;  what  a  petty  boor  may 
defeat  Ulysses  !  Yet  it  was  not  such  a  petty 
boor  who  caused  the  ruin  in  this  case  ;  it  was 
the  Cambridge  mucker,  and  he  should  never 
have  been  overlooked  by  a  man  of  Machiavelli 
Stoughton's  experience.  Those  who  know  the 


76  Harvard  Stories. 

Cantabrigian  guerilla  respect  his  power,  though 
they  abhor  his  ways.  An  influential  member 
of  this  free  lancehood,  having  demanded  a 
quarter  for  the  vedette  service  before  men 
tioned,  and  being  refused  employment,  nursed 
a  vindictive  spirit.  He  gathered  a  band  on 
Harvard  Street,  near  to  the  advanced  scouts, 
and  waited  to  see  what  was  going  to  happen. 
As  soon  as  Stoughton  and  Randolph  came  up 
with  the  attendant  Bullam,  this  unforeseen 
enemy  raised  a  joyful  shout  and  marshalled  his 
comrades  behind  the  trio.  As  they  proceeded 
along  the  street,  he  yelled  to  every  mucker 
they  passed,  "  Hey,  ragsy,  come  on!  Here  's 
two  o'  de  Ha'vards  gettin'  run  in !  " 

Muckers  gathered  from  every  side  like  jackals, 
and  Bullam,  realizing  the  sudden  turn  in  the 
aspect  of  affairs,  no  longer  lagged  behind,  but 
forged  up  alongside  of  his  would-be  tamers, 
and  assumed  his  old  fierce  and  haughty  air. 
He  could  maintain  his  dignity  before  the  public 
anyway. 

This  was  the  way  Dick  Stoughton's  great 
triumph  looked  when  it  reached  a  point  oppo 
site  the  Yard.  The  expectant  crowd  of  under 
graduates  looked  for  a  moment  in  surprise  and 


Harvard  Stories.  77 

grief,  then,  notwithstanding  their  disappoint 
ment  at  Bullam's  escape,  a  great  roar  of  laughter 
went  up,  as  they  concluded  that  the  two  daring 
plotters  had  egregiously  failed  in  their  attempt 
and  were  on  their  way  to  a  dungeon. 

"Let  's  bail  them  out,"  cried  two  or  three. 
"  Bail  nothing,  you  idiots,"  shouted  the  cha 
grined  Stoughton,  "  we  are  not  arrested  ;  this 
man  is  our  body-guard.  Come  on,  and  we  will 
take  the  procession  around  the  Square  and  up 
Garden  Street." 

This  had  been  Dick's  original  intention  as  to 
the  line  of  march ;  but  just  at  this  moment  the 
Dean  of  Harvard  College  came  around  the 
corner  of  Holyoke  Street  and  stopped  short. 
In  the  direction  of  Harvard  Square  lay  the  jail-, 
and  Stoughton  at  once  decided  that  a  triumph 
of  such  uncertain  appearance  had  better  be 
brought  to  a  close  right  where  they  were.  He 
and  Randolph  halted,  therefore,  and,  waving 
aloft  the  barber's  pole,  gave  Bullam  their 
gracious  permission  to  depart.  As  a  little 
extra  effect  they  ordered  him  to  disperse  the 
rabble,  to  which  mandate  he  payed  no  atten 
tion.  Then,  with  as  much  dignity  as  possible, 
they  retreated  into  Foster's.  It  was  the  best 


78  Harvard  Stories. 

effort  they  could  make  to  retrieve  the  day,  a 
weak  ending  to  so  magnificent  a  scheme. 

They  did  not  hear  the  last  of  their  "  grand 
pageant  "  for  a  long  time  ;  but  their  own  re 
collection  of  it  will  always  be  softened  by  the 
memory  of  those  sweet  moments  beneath  the 
captain's  window. 


THE  DOG  BLATHERS. 

BESIDES  the  "  officers  of  instruction  and 
government,"  and  the  instructed  and  governed, 
there  are  many  classes  and  individuals  that 
make  up  the  university  population  of  Cam 
bridge — unofficial  members,  whose  names  do 
not  appear  in  the  catalogue.  There  are  the 
camp  followers,  the  goodies,  the  janitors,  the 
Poco,  John  the  Orangeman,  Riley,  the  O'Haras 
who  "  understand  th'  busniz,"  and  all  the  other 
dignitaries,  as  firmly  established  and  well 
recognized  as  the  Faculty.  Probably  the  most 
numerous  of  the  unofficial  classes  is  the  great 
four-legged  one.  There  are  undergraduate  dogs, 
and  law-school  dogs,  and  post-graduate  dogs, 
and  I  believe  there  were  one  or  two  Divinity 
dogs.  During  our  time  there  were  several 
very  distinguished  dogs  in  the  Faculty,  notably 
one  huge  bull-dog.  Among  the  undergradu 
ates,  the  ugliest  and  most  perfect  in  form  and 
feature,  the  most  polished  and  attractive  in 
79 


80  Harvard  Stories. 

manner,  the  most  genial  and  popular,  in  every 
way  the  leader  par  excellence,  was  Rattleton's 
round  head  bull-terrier  Blathers. 

Blathers  was  named  after  the  great  man  who 
bred  him.  That  celebrated  fancier  was  re 
nowned  throughout  Cambridge  for  two  things, 
his  dogs  and  his  profanity.  He  could  outswear 
Sawin's  expressman,  Hitchell  the  black  scout, 
and  the  janitor  of  Little's  Block,  and  any  one 
who  could  excel  those  three  was  indeed  an 
artist.  I  do  not  believe,  however,  that  the 
recording  angel  entered  all  of  Blather's  items 
in  the  debit  column  ; — in  the  first  place,  he 
would  not  have  had  time,  in  the  second  place, 
most  of  Blather's  oaths  were  not  delivered  in 
anger,  in  the  sense  of  Raca,  but  flowed  out  in 
nocently  and  unconsciously,  merely  as  aids  to 
conversation.  One  morning  this  worthy  came 
into  Rattleton's  room,  bearing  in  his  hand  a 
little  brindled  object  about  five  inches  long. 
It  looked  like  a  stub-tailed  rat,  whose  nose  had 
been  smashed  with  a  lump  of  coal. 

"  Good  mornin',  Mr.  Rattleton  ;  beg  your 
pardon  for  intrudin',  sir,  but  I  Ve  got  sumpthin' 
here  I  want  for  to  show  yer.  I  Ve  got  a  mag 
nificent  animal." 


Harvard  Stories.  8 1 

"  Oh,  get  out,  Blathers ;  I  don't  want  a  dog ; 
had  to  give  away  the  last  one." 

The  following  speech  was  bristling  with  pro 
fanity,  but  I  have  omitted  even  the  indication 
blanks,  except  in  one  passage  where  they  were 
too  characteristic  to  be  left  out. 

"  I  don't  want  yer  to  buy  him,  sir.  I  just 
want  to  show  him  to  yer.  He  's  a  beauty.  I 
know  yer  knows  the  points  of  a  dog,  sir,  and 
its  just  a  pleasure  I  'm  givin*  yer  to  look  at 
him.  Just  take  him  in  your  hand,  sir.  Now, 
I  sold  Mrs.  G.  an  own  half  brother  of  that 
feller.  You  know  Mrs.  G.,  surely,  down  here 
to  the  Theolog.  school  ?  "  (Mrs.  G.  was  a  most 
charming  and  gentle  lady,  the  wife  of  a  cele 
brated  clergyman.)  "  Well,  I  stopped  at  her 
house  the  other  day  to  see  how  she  liked  the 

pup.  She  says  to  me,  *  By  ,  Blathers,' 

says  she,  '  that 's  the finest  dog  ever 

I  see ;  d me,  if  it  ain't,'  says  she.  Yes,  sir, 

that's  just  what  she  thought  about  him.  You 
go  ask  her  and  see  if  it  ain't.  And  she 
wouldn't  say  nothin'  she  didn't  mean,  just  to 
tickle  me,  neither.  Mrs.  G.  is  a  real  lady,  and 
knows  the  points  of  a  dog,  she  does.  She 
was kind  to  my  wife  when  she  was 

6 


82  Harvard  Stories. 

sick  last  time.  Oh,  my  wife's  been  orful  sick, 
Mr.  Rattleton.  I  had  to  pay  for  a  lot  of  doc 
tor's  consults  and  other  stuff ;  that 's  just  the 
only  reason,  sir,  I  want  to  sell  this  beautiful 
pup.  I  'd  never  part  with  him  in  this  world,  if 
I  could  help  it." 

Blathers  never  would  have  parted  from  any 
of  his  dogs  had  it  not  been  for  his  frequent 
family  afflictions.  These  afflictions  were  al 
ways  very  expensive  and  varied,  from  the 
funeral  of  his  mother  to  the  birth  of  twins. 
He  buried  four  mothers  in  one  year  ;  that  was 
his  best  work,  though  six  children  born  during 
the  following  term  pushed  hard  on  the  record. 

"  If  I  could  only  make  up  my  mind  to  let 
yer  have  that  dog,  Mr.  Rattleton,"  he  went  on, 
"  it  would  work  both  ways.  Maybe  I  ought  to 
do  it.  It  would  be  a  favor  and  a  kind  thing  in 
me  to  sell  yer  that  pup  at  any  price,  and  you  'd 
be  doin'  a  charity  to  a  poor  man  in  helpin'  me 
along.  It  would  be  a  good  action  all  around, 
see  ?  Oh,  I  need  the  money  orful  bad." 

Rattleton  during  this  speech  had  been  play 
ing  with  the  puppy,  and  he  was  struck  both  by 
the  brightness  of  the  little  fellow  and  the  logic 
of  his  owner.  He  knew  that  Blathers  really  did 


Harvard  Stories.  83 

have  rather  hard  times  with  his  family.  In  any 
case  Lazy  Jack  never  took  the  trouble  to  sift  a 
tale  of  woe  and  apply  the  most  enlightened  and 
efficient  remedy.  He  had  no  excuse  for  not 
doing  so  ;  he  took  the  Social  Ethics  Course  in 
Philosophy  because  it  was  easy,  and  of  course 
he  knew  how  wrong  it  is  to  give  to  a  beggar  ; 
nevertheless,  he  rarely  failed  to  do  so  if  he  had 
a  coin  in  his  pocket,  because  it  was  so  much 
easier  than  making  enquiries  and  giving  advice. 
Moreover  Jack  was  so  lacking  in  principles,  that 
if  he  thought  the  beggar  looked  cold  and  in 
want  of  a  hot  whiskey,  he  was,  if  anything, 
more  apt  to  yield  the  ill-destined  alms.  In  this 
instance  the  insidious  Blathers  had  struck  him 
in  two  vulnerable  spots,  his  very  weak  nature, 
and  his  love  of  dogs.  He  also  wanted  to  get 
rid  of  Blathers  with  his  endless  stream  of  lurid 
and  decidedly  rum-flavored  eloquence,  and  the 
easiest  way  to  do  so  was  to  buy  the  puppy. 

It  was  in  his  master's  Sophomore  year  that 
Blathers,  the  pup,  began  his  career.  He  waxed 
fast  in  beauty  and  knowledge.  His  nose  grew 
in  and  his  teeth  grew  out,  his  ears  assumed  the 
correct  angle  and  his  legs  the  proper  curve. 
His  tail  in  babyhood  had  been  scientifically 


84  Harvard  Stories. 

bitten  off  by  the  gentleman  after  whom  he  was 
named,  and  was,  therefore,  of  exactly  the  right 
length.  He  went  through  the  distemper  and 
gave  it  to  every  dog  in  his  club.  His  spirit  did 
not  belie  his  points  ;  before  the  end  of  his  junior 
year  he  had  tackled  almost  every  dog  in  Cam 
bridge  and  generally  came  out  on  top.  He 
was  a  dog  of  marvellous  tact,  also ;  he  learned 
not  to  growl  at  the  proctor  on  his  staircase. 
Rattleton  spent  much  time  on  Blather's  educa 
tion — so  did  Rattleton's  friends.  The  latter, 
among  other  accomplishments,  succeeded  after 
great  effort  in  teaching  him  to  drink  beer ;  but 
Blathers  never  went  beyond  the  bounds  of 
propriety,  as  did  frequently  that  disreputable 
Irish  terrier  of  Dixey's. 

Blather's  most  prominent  virtue  of  all  was 
devotion  to  his  master,  and  his  affection  was 
fully  returned.  Those  two  were  rarely  apart, 
except  in  the  mornings,  before  Rattleton  was 
up.  Blathers  always  got  out  with  the  nine 
o'clock  lecture  men  and  chapel  goers,  and 
would  visit  around  at  the  various  club-tables 
where  he  had  friends,  generally  collecting  five 
or  six  breakfasts  before  his  master  arose.  At 
about  eleven  o'clock  he  would  be  seen,  sitting 


Harvard  Stories.  85 

with  his  arms  akimbo,  in  front  of  the  Holly 
Tree ;  then  Jack  was  sure  to  be  inside,  getting 
the  marvellous  dropped  eggs  from  the  sad-eyed 
John.  If  ever  Blathers  frequented  the  steps  of 
Massachusetts,  Sever,  or  other  lecture  hall,  all 
men  would  know  that  Jack  Rattleton  was 
again  on  probation.  If  they  saw  the  dog  on 
the  grim  stone  Stair  of  Sighs  in  the  south  en 
trance  of  University,  they  would  make  sympa 
thetic  inquiries  when  next  they  met  the  master. 
When  the  round  black  and  brown  head  stuck 
out  of  the  window  of  Riley's  cab,  it  was  certain 
that  Rattleton  was  bound  over  the  bridge. 
They  even  went  once  or  twice  to  the  theatre 
together,  Blathers  concealed  under  Jack's  over 
coat.  Though  pugnacious  by  nature,  it  was  not 
because  Blathers  loved  other  dogs  less,  but 
fighting  more.  He  loved  a  row  for  its  own 
sweet  self,  had  few  enemies  and  several  warm 
friends.  He  was  particularly  devoted  to  Hud 
son's  Topsy,  and  engaged  in  many  a  combat 
on  her  account,  and  for  her  edification.  There 
were  only  two  dogs  for  whom  he  had  any  real 
aversion — Mike  Dixey,  of  his  own  class,  and 
Baynor's  white  bull-dog,  of  the  class  below 
him. 


86  Harvard  Stories. 

Probably  the  happiest  moment  of  Blathers 
college  life  occurred  one  day  on  Holmes'  Field. 
There  was  a  class  ball-game  going  on  ;  the 
Sophomores  were  ranged  on  one  side  of  the 
field,  the  Juniors  opposite.  The  white  bull-dog 
had  been  barking  in  time  with  the  cheering, 
yelping  at  the  players  of  the  opposing  team, 
trying  to  "  rattle "  the  pitcher,  and  making 
himself  generally  conspicuous  and  obnoxious. 
Finally,  in  the  excitement  over  some  good 
play,  he  slipped  his  collar  and  ran  into  the  out 
field  to  congratulate  the  centre-fielder.  Some 
how  or  other  (Ned  Burleigh  probably  knew), 
Blathers  happened  to  get  loose  at  the  same 
moment.  With  a  heralding  bark  he  flew  into 
the  listed  field  and  made  straight  for  the  white 
champion.  All  interest  in  the  ball-game  ceased 
at  once.  With  a  great  shout  the  two  opposing 
crowds  rose  from  the  seats  en  masse,  and  swept 
across  the  diamond,  "  blocking  off "  the  owners 
of  the  two  dogs,  who  rushed  to  separate  them. 
In  the  rush,  five  or  six  more  terriers  got  adrift, 
and  reached  the  front  well  ahead  of  their 
masters.  In  just  about  ten  seconds  there  was 
a  ball  of  at  least  seven  dogs  of  various  fighting 
breeds,  rolling  about  in  a  halo  of  hair,  howls, 


Harvard  Stories.  87 

and  pure  delight.  After  a  few  minutes,  their 
masters  succeeded  in  pushing  through  the  sur 
rounding  crowd,  and  each  man  laid  hold  of  a 
dog's  tail  or  hind  leg.  By  dint  of  heaving  and 
kicking,  the  happy  party  was  at  last  broken  up, 
and  at  the  bottom  of  the  pile  were  found  Blath 
ers  and  the  white  bull-dog.  They  were  locked 
in  a  fond  embrace,  and  it  took  hot  water  from 
the  gymnasium  to  get  them  apart.  Ever  after 
that  Blathers  bore  a  scar  on  the  side  of  his  head  ; 
but  he  was  proud  of  that  mark,  for  there  was  a 
larger  and  more  distinct  one  on  the  Sophomore 
dog. 

Blathers  got  into  a  scrape  in  his  Senior  year 
that  nearly  caused  his  expulsion  from  the 
University,  and  compromised  his  master  seri 
ously.  An  aunt  of  Rattleton's  came  out  to 
Cambridge  one  afternoon,  for  the  purpose  of 
attending  the  Thursday  Vespers  in  Appleton 
Chapel.  She  notified  Jack  that  she  expected 
him  to  escort  her.  Jack  got  his  room  in  order, 
with  some  difficulty,  expurgated  the  ornaments 
and  pictures,  put  his  aunt's  photograph  on  the 
mantel-piece  and  a  Greek  lexicon  on  the  table, 
and  sent  Blathers  to  spend  the  afternoon  with  a 
friend.  Aunt  could  not  abide  a  dog,  especially 


88  Harvard  Stories. 

one  of  Blathers'  type  of  beauty.  So  Mr.  B. 
went  off  with  Jack  Randolph. 

Randolph's  room  was  in  the  back  of  Thayer, 
and  his  window  commanded  the  approaches  to 
Appleton  Chapel.  Blathers  was  squatted  in 
the  window-seat  with  his  head  on  one  side,  idly 
watching  the  birds,  and  wondering  where  his 
master  could  have  gone.  Suddenly  his  eye  fell 
on  that  very  person,  and  with  him  one  of  that 
kind  of  humans  whose  legs  are  all  in  one  piece. 
Blathers  had  seen  lots  of  that  kind,  and  knew 
well  enough  what  they  were  ;  but  what  could 
one  of  them  possibly  be  doing  with  his  master, 
right  here  in  Cambridge,  at  this  time  of  year  ? 
He  had  never  seen  such  a  thing  as  that  before, 
except  once  on  Class  Day.  It  was  for  this, 
then,  that  he  had  been  dismissed  for  the  after 
noon  !  Well,  well,  well,  pretty  goings  on  !  He 
betrayed  his  astonishment  and  irritation  by  a 
low  "  wuff  !  "  jumped  down  from  the  window- 
seat,  and  scratched  at  the  door. 

"  No,"  said  Randolph,  looking  at  him,  "you 
can't  get  out.  Did  you  see  a  cat  ?  " 

Blathers  came  over  to  the  armchair,  stood  up, 
putting  both  hands  on  Randolph's  knees,  and 
looked  at  him  appealingly. 


Harvard  Stories.  89 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Randolph,  "  your 
master  has  deserted  you  for  the  afternoon, 
has  n't  he  ?  Mean  trick,  is  n't  it  ?  And  where 
do  you  suppose  he  has  gone  ?  To  Vespers, 
think  of  that !  Don't  shake  your  head,  Blathers, 
it  's  true "  "  Wuff  !  "  "  Yes,  rather  re 
markable,  I  know ;  no  wonder  you  say  so. 
But  don't  blame  him  ;  he  could  n't  help  it,  and 
it  will  do  him  good." 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  Randolph  threw 
away  his  book,  and  took  his  cap. 

"  Come,  Blathers,"  said  he,  "  we  '11  go  over 
to  the  Pud  for  awhile.  You  may  find  your 
friend  Topsy  there." 

No  sooner  had  he  opened  the  door  than 
Blathers  scrambled  down-stairs  with  that  grace 
ful  motion  peculiar  to  a  terrier  on  urgent  busi 
ness  ;  his  hind-quarters  shoved  his  head  all  the 
way  downstairs,  and  tripped  over  it  at  the  bot 
tom.  He  shot  out  of  the  door  as  if  after  a  cat, 
whisked  round  the  corner,  and  made  straight 
for  the  Chapel.  On  the  steps,  however,  he 
paused,  for,  at  that  moment,  coming  up  the 
path  from  Memorial,  he  saw  a  sight  that  made 
his  blood  boil.  Hudson  and  Dixey  were 
strolling  back  from  the  Agassiz,  and  trotting 


90  Harvard  Stories. 

ahead  of  them  were  Topsy  and  that  abomina 
ble  Mike  Dixey.  As  has  been  mentioned 
before,  Mike  was  a  dog  of  very  loose  character. 
He  would  get  intoxicated  on  beer  whenever  he 
could  find  any  one  to  "  set  it  up."  He  belonged 
nominally  to  Dixey,  but  was  really  a  sort  of 
dog-about-college.  He  would  attach  himself 
to  any  one  whom  he  could  work  for  crackers 
and  beer.  He  did  not  mind  spending  the 
night  on  a  door-step,  and  associated  with  all 
the  street  curs.  He  would  hang  around  the 
public  billiard-rooms  and  Foster's,  and  do  tricks 
for  sandwiches.  Sometimes  he  would  disappear 
on  a  spree  for  days,  get  caught  by  the  muckers, 
and  come  home  with  a  tin  can  in  tow.  Alto 
gether  he  was  no  fit  company  for  a  lady,  and 
when  Blathers  saw  this  low-lived  animal  walk 
ing  with  his  Topsy,  reverence  for  the  spot 
could  not  restrain  his  indignation.  Right  in 
front  of  the  Chapel  door  he  insulted  the  Irish 
terrier,  and  before  the  men  behind  could  come 
up,  then  and  there  the  fight  began.  Rattleton, 
within,  heard  the  sounds  of  conflict  rise  above 
the  anthem,  and,  by  some  vague  intuition,  his 
blood  ran  cold.  Another  moment  and  Mike 
came  flying  up  the  aisle  with  yelps  of  pain, 


Harvard  Stories.  91 

evidently  seeking  sanctuary.  Blathers  may 
have  had  a  deep  reverence  for  Appleton  Chapel 
(barring  the  architecture),  but  his  blood  was 
up,  and  he  did  not  stop  to  think.  He  pursued 
the  flying  foe,  overtook  and  grabbed  him  again, 
just  beyond  Rattleton's  pew,  and  alongside  of 
that  of  a  couple  of  magnates.  Jack  thought  it 
would  be  better  to  remove  those  two  dogs  him 
self,  and  did  so,  one  in  each  hand.  But  there 
was  no  use  in  pretending  that  he  did  not  know 
to  whom  that  scientific  bull-terrier  belonged. 
The  men  outside  had  some  difficulty  in  per 
suading  him  that  they  were  in  no  way  respon 
sible  for  the  episode. 

Mr.  Blathers  lived  long  and  went  to  many 
places,  but  that  was  the  only  time  he  ever 
attended  services  in  church. 


A  HOWARD  AND  HARVARD  EVENING. 

THAT  evening  at  dinner  Burleigh  and  Rat- 
tleton  entertained  the  table  with  a  glowing 
description  of  a  new  play  they  had  seen  on  the 
previous  night,  at  the  Howard  Athenaeum. 
They  were  most  enthusiastic  about  it. 

"  I  can't  understand/'  declared  Burleigh, 
"  how  such  a  piece  and  such  a  troupe  happened 
to  drop  into  the  old  Howard.  Such  scenery ! 
Why,  the  stage  setting  was  the  best  I  ever  saw. 
One  act  was  laid  in  the  pine  woods  ;  you  could 
look  way  through  them,  apparently,  live  birds 
flew  about  among  the  branches,  and  they  must 
have  burned  some  sort  of  balsam  in  the  wings, 
for  you  could  actually  smell  the  pines." 

"  That  's  a  new  smell  for  the  Howard," 
remarked  Hudson. 

"  Yes,  and  those  two  girls ! "  added  Jack 
Rattleton.  "  By  Jove,  was  n't  that  blonde  a 
beauty !  " 

"  The  brunette  was  better,"  averred  Bur- 
92 


Harvard  Stories.  93 

leigh.  "  How  she  did  sing !  They  have 
splendid  songs  all  through  the  play." 

"  Never  saw  such  acting,"  said  Jack,  "  even 
— certainly  never  at  the  Howard." 

"  The  hero  was  a  magnificent  young  man," 
Burleigh  went  on.  "You  ought  to  see  him 
throw  down  the  villain  in  the  last  act.  I  'm 
going  again  as  soon  as  I  can." 

"  Why  have  n't  we  heard  of  it  before  ?  " 
queried  Stoughton,  suspiciously. 

"  It  was  a  first  night,"  explained  Burleigh, 
promptly.  "  Jack  and  I  were  pioneers.  You 
fellows  ought  to  go  see  it.  You  '11  hear  enough 
of  it  before  it  is  over ;  but  go  in  now  while  it 
is  fresh." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do  to-night,"  said  Hud 
son.  "  I  believe  I  '11  go.  Who  is  with  me?  " 

Stoughton  and  Gray  both  agreed  to  join  him. 
Holworthy  and  Randolph  were  going  to  drive 
over  to  a  ball  in  Brookline. 

"  I  'd  give  anything-  to  go  with  you  chaps," 
said  Burleigh,  "  but  I  have  got  to  work  into 
the  wee  sma'  hours  on  my  forensic.  It  is  due 
to-morrow  morning,  and  I  have  n't  done  a 
thing  on  it." 

"I  'd  like  to  see  that  show  again,  too,"  said 


94  Harvard  Stories. 

Jack,  "but  I  don't  feel  very  well  to-night.  I  'm 
going  to  turn  in  early." 

The  three  theatre-goers  started  for  town 
immediately  after  dinner.  They  stopped  at  one 
of  the  clubs  first,  and  picked  up  three  or  four 
other  men  on  the  strength  of  Burleigh's  eulogy 
of  the  play. 

Whoever  has  been  through  Harvard  College 
and  never  been  to  the  Howard  Athenaeum  has 
neglected  his  advantages ;  fortunately  such 
deplorable  instances  are  rare.  Who,  that  has 
improved  his  opportunities,  does  not  remember 
the  old  stamping-ground,  where  the  commingled 
perfumes  of  orange-peel,  humanity,  and  pea 
nuts  would  smell  to  high  heaven,  were  they  not 
stopped  in  a  concentrated  mass  by  the  grimy 
roof.  There  things  are  real,  things  are  earnest, 
unweakened  by  affectation  and  refinement. 
The  villains  are  real  bad  villians,  and  carry 
knives,  not  cigarettes.  They  know  how  to 
gloat.  The  heroes  have  red  undershirts  and 
true  nobility,  and  don't  mind  showing  either. 
The  heroines  are  not  ashamed  of  sentimentality. 
Neither  is  the  audience.  There,  too,  is  music 
that  you  can  remember  and  whistle,  that  you 
can  sing  afterwards  on  the  way  back  to  Cam- 


Harvard  Stories.  95 

bridge  ;  not  music  that  you  must  contemplate 
with  rapt  gaze  on  the  ceiling.  There  you  will 
find  humor  of  the  broad,  plain,  unmistakable 
variety,  humor  at  which  you  can  laugh  for  its 
own  sake,  not  for  the  maker's  wit  or  your  own 
in  detecting  it.  Nor,  in  that  shrine  of  the 
Muses,  does  pleasure  always  end  with  the  fall 
of  the  curtain.  Frequently  you  may  see  two 
or  three  excellent  fights  on  the  way  out,  and 
perhaps  be  granted  a  share  in  one  yourself. 
Oh,  you  get  your  money's  worth  at  the  classic 
Athenaeum,  for  it  is  all  for  fifty  cents  (thirty- 
five  in  the  gallery). 

"  I  have  a  suspicion,"  said  Stoughton,  on  the 
way  in  town,  "  that  those  fellows  were  lying  to 
us.  I  '11  bet  this  show  is  something  awful,  they 
were  probably  bored  to  death,  and  conceived 
the  happy  thought  of  getting  us  sold  in  the 
same  way." 

."  Nevermind,"  said  Hudson,  philosophically  ; 
"we  '11  have  a  good  time  anyway." 

Before  the  curtain  had  been  up  ten  minutes, 
Dick's  suspicion  gained  ground ;  it's  truth  was 
fully  confirmed  long  before  the  end  of  the  play. 
The  scenery,  the  birds,  and  the  pine  balsam 
effects  were  wholly  creatures  of  Burleigh's 


96  Harvard  Stories. 

capable  brain ;  as  for  Jack  Rattleton's  houris, 
Stoughton  declared  that  "  Noah  was  a  fool  to 
have  saved  them ;  he  ought  to  have  shut  them 
out  in  the  rain  long  enough  to  get  a  wash 
any  way." 

Even  the  Athenaeum  audience  was  dissatis 
fied  and  inclined  to  jeer.  Gray  wanted  to  leave 
at  the  end  of  the  first  act. 

"  Hold  on,"  insisted  Hudson,  "  let  's  stay 
here  and  make  this  a  success.  There  's  lots  of 
good  sentiment  all  through  it,  just  your  style 
Gray.  All  it  needs  is  a  little  enthusiasm  in  the 
house  to  warm  up  the  actors.  Let  's  lead  the 
applause  on  the  strong  points." 

So  they  stayed,  and  their  efforts  were 
attended  with  such  success,  that  they  might 
have  had  a  free  pass  for  future  performances. 
Every  time  the  hero  said,  "  I  am  the  just  man 
and  you  are  the  villain,"  or  the  heroine  declared 
she  would  never  leave  him  while  life  lasted,  or 
showed  other  symptoms  of  heroism,  the  knot 
of  students  would  stamp,  and  applaud,  and 
rouse  the  finer  feelings  of  the  whole  house. 
The  grateful  actors  certainly  did  warm  up,  and 
delivered  with  more  and  more  vim  their  honest 
expressions  of  lofty  sentiment  and  occasional 


Harvard  Stories.  97 

touches  of  patriotism,  the  latter  utterly  uncalled 
for,  but  always  welcome.  The  audience  became 
worked  up  as  well,  but  in  the  last  act  suddenly 
began  to  hiss. 

"  Hullo  !  what 's  up  now?  "  asked  Gray,  who 
had  not  taken  the  Athenaeum  course  faithfully, 
and  was  not  learned  in  it ;  "  what  are  they 
hissing  at?" 

"Good  gracious,  man,"  answered  Hudson, 
"  don't  you  see  ?  Don't  display  your  ignorance. 
They  are  hissing  the  villain.  It 's  the  greatest 
compliment  you  can  pay  him.  Go  ahead,  hiss 
like  a  good  one." 

On  the  whole,  the  performance  was  a  grand 
success,  and  Hudson  insisted  that  Gray  had 
made  an  undoubted  conquest  of  the  second  lady. 
After  it  was  over  some  one  mentioned  "  broiled 
lob.  and  musty,"  at  Parks,  but  it  was  voted  to 
return  to  Cambridge  and  make  a  rare-bit  there. 

"  We  '11  go  pull  out  Ned  Burleigh,  and  have 
it  in  his  room,"  suggested  Dick. 

"  No  you  don't !  "  exclaimed  Hudson.  "  You 
forget  I  'm  his  chum.  I  '11  have  no  Welsh  rare 
bit  made  in  that  room  unless  we  draw  lots  and 
I  get  stuck.  •  The  room  would  smell  of  cheese 
and  stale  beer  for  twenty-four  hours." 


98  Harvard  Stories. 

"  Let  's  land  on  Rattleton  then.  We  '11 
teach  him  to  lie." 

Feeling  in  a  luxurious  mood  they  scorned 
the  cars,  and  chartered  a  herdic,  four  men  get 
ting  inside  and  three  on  the  roof.  For  those 
readers  who  know  not  the  herdic,  I  will  explain 
that  it  is  a  sort  of  tiny  omnibus  in  which  four 
thin  people  can  sit  uncomfortably.  It  usually 
has  two  wheels  and  never  more  than  one  horse 
— sometimes  not  quite  as  much. 

"  I  may  as  well  tell  you  before  we  start," 
said  Stoughton,  who  sat  on  the  top,  to  the 
driver,  "  that  we  are  not  Freshmen,  so  don't 
break  a  spring  on  the  bridge  and  tell  us  that  it 
will  cost  you  ten  dollars  to  get  it  mended." 

"  I  know  you  're  old  hands,"  answered  Jehu, 
with  a  grin,  "  I  know  youse  fellers.  I  remem 
ber  your  face  pertickler.  Mebbe  you  disrecol- 
lect  comin'  out  with  me  one  night  from  Parker's. 
Let  's  see,  guess  it  was  two  years  ago,  after 
the  Institoot  dinner." 

"  All  right,  my  friend,  say  no  more,"  ac 
knowledged  Dick,  as  the  other  two  men 
shouted.  "  The  drink  is  on  me.  Here  is  the 
price  of  it." 

The  door  at  the  back  of  the  herdic  is  held 


Harvard  Stories.  99 

shut  with  a  strap  that  leads  through  the  roof 
to  the  driver's  seat.  This  was  secured  firmly, 
so  as  to  keep  the  inside  passengers  safe,  for  it 
is  an  established  courtesy  for  those  inside  to 
slip  out  when  near  the  college,  leaving  the 
others  to  pay  the  driver  and  joining  them  later. 
By  means  of  the  strap,  however,  and ,  the  lack 
of  a  knife  among  the  insiders,  all  arrived  well 
together  at  the  building  where  Rattleton 
roomed. 

"  I  '11  go  to  the  Fly  and  get  the  cheese  and 
beer,"  said  Gray.  "You  get  your  chafing-dish, 
Dick." 

Stoughton  roomed  in  the  same  building  with 
Rattleton,  as  did  Hudson  and  Burleigh.  While 
he  went  after  his  chafing-dish  the  others  recon- 
noitered  Rattleton's  quarters.  The  door  was 
locked  and  all  was  dark.  The  glass  ventilator 
over  the  door,  however,  was  unfastened,  and 
large  enough  to  admit  a  man.  Jack  Rattleton 
always  left  his  ventilator  unfastened,  for  he 
often  depended  on  it  for  his  own  ingress.  The 
reason  of  this  was  very  simple, — the  door  had  a 
spring  bolt,  and  it  was  characteristic  of  Mr. 
Rattleton's  nature  to  frequently  leave  his  keys 
inside  and  shut  the  door  when  he  went  out. 


i  oo  Harvard  Stories. 

It  was  a  very  simple  matter  for  Hudson  to 
climb  over  the  door  through  this  ventilator, 
drop  down,  and  open  the  door  from  the  inside. 

"  Look  out  for  Blathers,"  said  one  man.  "  If 
that  pretty  pup  is  in  there  he  '11  take  a  piece 
out  of  your  leg." 

"  He  knows  my  voice,"  answered  Hudson, 
as  he  "  shinned  "  over.  He  let  the  rest  in  and 
lit  the  gas.  Rattleton  was  not  in  his  bedroom. 

"  Humph,"  grunted  Hudson.  "  Said  he 
was  n't  well  and  was  going  to  turn  in  early. 
The  abominable  liar." 

They  poked  up  the  fire  and  had  it  roaring 
when  Stoughton  returned,  bearing  the  chafing- 
dish  and  a  long  pipe,  his  dear  Mary  Jane. 

"  That 's  a  good  idea,"  said  Hudson,  as  his 
eye  fell  on  the  latter  article.  "  You  've  brought 
that  disgusting  black  pipe.  We  can  stand  it 
for  a  while,  and  it  will  permeate  Jack's  room 
and  teach  him  the  beauty  of  truth.  Puff  away 
on  Mary  ;  serve  Jack  right." 

Rattleton's  plates  and  other  necessities  were 
foraged  out  by  the  time  Gray  appeared  with 
the  cheese  and  beer.  Not  seeing  Rattleton, 
he  asked  how  the  others  had  got  in.  Hudson 
explained.  "This  open  ventilator  habit  of 


Harvard  Stories.  i  o  i 

Jack's  "  he  added,  "  is  worse  than  rooming  on 
the  ground  floor.  Ned  Burleigh  and  I  had 
enough  of  that  in  Freshman  year,  before  we 
moved  up  here.  Our  room  was  a  regular 
darned  club.  Everybody  would  drop  in  there 
between  lectures,  chin  when  we  wanted  to 
study,  and  smoke  our  tobacco,  just  because  it 
was  too  much  trouble  to  go  up-stairs.  We 
could  n't  leave  our  window  open  at  night  with 
out  having  some  fools  crawl  in,  at  any  time 
after  midnight,  and  raise  the  deuce." 

"Yes,  I  remember.  It  was  very  pleasant," 
remarked  Stoughton. 

The  creation  of  the  rarebit  was  well  under 
way  with  the  usual  accompaniment  of  advice 
and  altercation  over  the  ingredients,  when 
shouts  were  heard  from  under  the  window,  of 
"Jack,  Jack  Rat,  Oh,  Jack  !" 

Hudson  threw  up  the  window  and  saw  Hoi- 
worthy  and  Randolph  below  in  a  buggy.  "  Mr. 
Rattleton  is  not  in,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "but 
come  right  up  and  make  yourselves  at  home." 

"  All  right ;  be  with  you  in  a  moment,  as  soon 
as  we  have  taken  this  trap  round  to  Blake's." 

"  It  is  the  two  society  fritterlings,"  announced 
Hudson,  as  he  drew  in  his  head.  A  few  min- 


IO2  Harvard  Stories. 

utes  later  Randolph  and  Holworthy  appeared 
in  their  big  coats. 

"  Seems  to  me  you  're  back  from  your  ball 
pretty  early/'  observed  Gray. 

"  Hoi  did  n't  find  the  person  there  he  wanted 
to  see,  so  he  soured  on  the  whole  thing  and 
dragged  me  away  early,"  Jack  Randolph  ex 
plained. 

"  What  a  whopper,"  said  Holworthy,  as  he 
took  off  his  ulster.  "  It  was  very  stupid,  and 
Jack  himself  suggested  that  we  should  be  hap 
pier  in  Cambridge." 

"Aha,"  cried  Stoughton,  who  was  stirring 
the  "  bunny  "  with  a  master  hand.  "  Very 
nice.  Two  gentlemen  in  faultless  evening 
attire.  They  '11  do  for  the  waiters.  Here,  quick, 
hand  up  your  plates  before  this  thing  gets 
cold." 

While  they  were  eating  the  rarebit,  a  step 
was  heard  in  the  entry,  accompanied  by  the 
trotting  feet  of  a  dog,  and  the  locked  door  was 
tried.  Then  a  familiar  voice  drawled  "  What 
the  devil  is  going  on  in  here?" 

"  Hullo,  Jack,"  cried  Stoughton,  "come 
right  in.  Don't  be  bashful." 

"  Open  the  door,  you  arrant  burglars,"  de- 


Ha  rvard  Stories.  i  o  3 

manded  Rattleton.  "  My  keys  are  on  my 
bureau,  or  somewhere  inside.  " 

"  Climb  over  the  transom  as  I  did/'  Hudson 
called.  "  You  '11  have  to  turn  your  back  to  the 
company  in  the  performance,  but  don't  mind 
the  awkwardness  of  the  position." 

"We  '11  excuse  your  back.  We  have  your 
hair-brushes  and  the  fire  shovel  already,"  added 
Randolph,  cheerily. 

"Don't  be  such  babies,"  said  Jack,  (when 
ever  any  of  the  gang  was  at  a  disadvantage, 
he  was  apt  to  age  suddenly)  "  come,  let 
me  in." 

"Are  you  sorry  you  told  a  naughty  fib  to 
night  ?  "  asked  Hudson,  with  his  hand  on  the 
knob. 

"  Yes." 

"  Will  you  set  up  the  ingredients  for  a 
punch?" 

"  Yes." 

"All  right  then,  you  may  come  in,"  said 
Hudson,  graciously,  opening  the  door. 

"  How  was  the  play  ? "  inquired  Jack, 
pleasantly,  as  he  went  into  his  bedroom  after 
the  wash-basin,  the  regular  understudy  for  a 
punch-bowl. 


1 04  Harvard  Stories. 

"  Enjoyed  it  immensely,  in  spite  of  your 
wishes  for  our  entertainment,"  Hudson  de 
clared.  "  We  know  now  your  ideal  of  talent 
and  beauty." 

"  Don't  blame  me.  That  was  all  Burleigh's 
rot,"  protested  Jack,  apologetically,  but  with  a 
chuckle.  "  Why  don't  you  pull  him  out?" 

"That  is  a  good  plan,"  assented  Hudson. 
"  Two  of  you  come  up  and  help  me  capture 
the  elephant.  He  may  resist."  A  committee 
of  three  went  up  to  wait  upon  Burleigh. 

"  What  is  the  sense  of  this  meeting  as  to  the 
temperature  of  the  grog  ?  "  asked  Rattleton. 

"  Hot !  "  promptly  moved  the  two  who  had 
driven  over  from  Brookline.  The  motion  was 
carried,  so  Jack  put  the  kettle  on  the  fire. 

"  Speaking  of  the  drama  and  brother  Bur 
leigh,"  said  Holworthy,  "  do  you  remember  the 
time,  Dick,  that  we  saw  the  old  man  suping  in 
that  spectacular  play  in  Sophomore  year  ?  " 

"  I  'm  not  likely  to  forget  it,"  answered  Dick. 
"  You  fellows  remember  that  show  called  '  Al- 
brachia,'  or  some  such  name,  full  of  red  fire 
and  fairies  ?  Hoi.  and  I  went  in  to  see  it  one 
night,  and  whom  should  we  discover  as  leading 
demon  in  the  grand  climax,  but  the  stout 


Harvard  Stories.  105 

Edward.  We  nearly  stood  up  and  cheered, — 
but  we  '11  make  him  tell  about  it  to-night." 

"  Hullo,  here  is  the  sylph  now !  "  exclaimed 
some  one,  as  the  committee  returned  in  triumph 
with  Ned  in  tow. 

"  The  perjured  loafer  told  us  he  was  going  to 
work  on  his  forensic,"  cried  Hudson.  "  Look 
at  this,"  pointing  to  Burleigh,  whose  generous 
proportions  were  swathed  in  gaudy  pajamas. 

"  I  hear  you  enjoyed  the  play  exceedingly," 
remarked  Burleigh,  as  he  made  for  the  fireplace, 
and  spread  his  huge  form  all  over  the  front 
of  it. 

I    &M-      °*  ^ 

"  So  we  did,  no  thanks  to  you,"  answered 

Gray. 

^s^&frjWA 

"  Any  men  who  are  such  Athenaeum  Lotha 
rios  as  to  be  decoyed  in  town  by  the  mere 
mention  of  two  pretty  actresses,  deserve  to  get 
sold,"  declared  Ned,  severely. 

"  Here,  take  your  toddy  and  stop  your 
mouth,"  said  Stoughton.  "As  a  penance  for 
your  lies,  you  can  give  us  some  reminiscences 
of  your  disreputable  career  on  the  stage." 

After  some  demurring,  Burleigh  was  per 
suaded  to  begin  his  yarn.  The  "  tea  "  was 
made  by  this  time,  and  enthroned  on  the  stu- 


io6  Harvard  Stories. 

dent's  desk  in  the  centre  of  the  room.  With 
"tod  and  tobac."  the  party  disposed  itself 
about  the  room,  every  one  with  a  view  more  to 
ease  than  grace.  Blathers,  as  usual,  chose  his 
master's  outstretched  legs.  Ned  Burleigh,  with 
a  cigar,  stood  in  front  of  the  fire  in  his  airy 
raiment,  his  feet  apart,  warming  his  exterior 
with  the  genial  blaze,  and  his  interior  with  the 
genial  toddy.  Would  that  we  could  have  those 
evenings  again ! 


THE  HARVARD  LEGION  AT  PHILIPPI. 

"  WHAT  do  you  want  me  to  relate?  "  asked 
Burleigh.  "  The  great  battle  of  Philippi  ?  " 

"  Yes,  we  would  like  to  hear  about  that," 
answered  Stoughton,  "  and  also  your  experience 
with  the  Hosts  of  Darkness." 

"  That  was  a  very  short  and  painful  affair," 
Ned  explained.  "  I  '11  tell  you  that  first.  You 
must  know,  my  children,  that  I  was  once  a  god 
less  Sophomore  even  as  other  Sophs.  You 
may  scarcely  believe  it  now,  but  I  was.  Among 
other  follies,  I  took  to  '  suping  '  occasionally. 
Of  course  my  intentions  were  purely  noble  ;  I 
wanted  to  elevate  the  stage.  On  one  occasion 
this  man  Hudson,  here,  led  me  to  the  Boston 
Theatre,  where  an  elaborate  show  was  being 
given  and  '  supes  '  were  in  demand.  You  fel 
lows  must  remember  the  play,  it  was  called 
'  Alboraka,  the  Wizard/  They  wanted  only 
one  man  for  that  night,  and  as  I  was  the  hand- 
107 


lo8  Harvard  Stories. 

somer,  they  chose  me.  I  comforted  Steve  by 
promising  to  share  with  him  the  quarter  that  I 
expected  to  earn  ;  I  believe  on  the  strength  of 
my  promise  he  bought  a  seat  in  the  peanut 
gallery." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  did  n't,"  interrupted  Hudson,  "  I 
had  a  seat  right  under  a  box  where  there  was  a 
theatre-party  of  Mrs.  Mayflor  Tremont's,  with 
a  lot  of  girls  I  knew.  I  was  thundering  glad  I 
was  n't  on  the  stage,  and  had  more  than  half  a 
mind  to  point  you  out  to  them." 

"  You  would  n't  have  troubled  me  at  all," 
answered  Ned.  "  That  is  where  we  unknown 
woolly  Westerners  get  the  drop  on  the  Boston 
men,  and  you  dudes  who  go  in  for  Boston 
society.  However,  to  go  on  with  this  confes 
sion,  I  was  appointed  leader  of  the  Hosts  of 
Darkness.  I  don't  know  why  I  was  singled 
out  for  this  distinction,  unless  it  was  on  account 
of  my  superb  figure." 

"  That  was  it,"  corroborated  Stoughton. 
"  You  did  look  stunning  in  those  red  tights, 
even  more  fetching  than  you  are  now  in  those 
pajamas." 

"  The  part  was  not  a  difficult  one,  but  very 
important,"  Burleigh  continued.  "  I  had  to 


Harvard  Stories.  109 

look  fierce,  and  bear  aloft  a  huge  red  and  gold 
affair.  This  was  referred  to  once  or  twice  as 
1  yon  gonfalon  of  Diabolus,'  so  I  suppose  that 's 
what  it  was.  I  only  had  to  go  on  the  stage 
twice.  In  the  last  scene,  where  the  Wizard 
got  thrown  down,  there  was  a  high  bridge  at 
the  back  of  the  stage.  It  was  steep  on  the 
sides,  shaped  a  good  deal  like  the  Chinese 
bridge  in  a  blue  willow-ware  plate  ;  don't  you 
remember  ?  I  had  to  hold  this  bridge  for  the 
Wizard  at  the  head  of  my  minions,  and  was 
doing  it  with  dignity  and  grace.  My  instruc 
tions  were  to  stay  there  until  the  Queen  of  the 
Fairies  should  point  at  me  and  say  '  Avaunt, 
vile  blood-fiends,  to  the  shades  below '  ;  then 
to  retire  with  signs  of  rage  and  terror,  while 
the  Hosts  of  Light  came  up  the  other  side  of 
the  bridge.  Now  I  was  watching  and  listening 
to  the  Queen  carefully,  and  I  am  sure  she  never 
pointed  at  me,  or  opened  her  head  about 
'  avaunting.'  I  think  myself  that  my  fatal 
beauty  in  the  red  tights  had  made  an  impres 
sion  on  her,  and  she  did  n't  want  me  to  leave. 
She  probably  could  n't  find  it  in  her  heart  to 
call  me  a  blood-fiend  ;  at  any  rate  there  was 
some  hitch,  for  the  Hosts  of  Light  began 


1 10  Harvard  Stories. 

coming  up  the  bridge  ahead  of  time.  Of  course, 
I  was  n't  going  to  avaunt  without  orders,  so  I 
stood  there  waiting  for  my  cue.  The  leading 
angel  called  me  a  most  vile  name,  in  an  anxious 
undertone,  and  poked  his  spear  violently  in  the 
pit  of  my  stomach.  He  hurt  me  like  the  devil, 
so  I  promptly  smashed  him  on  the  head  with 
the  Gonfalon  of  Diabolus,  and  bowled  him 
down  among  the  advancing  Hosts  of  Light,  to 
their  utter  confusion.  The  next  minute  some 
thing  lit  on  the  back  of  my  neck,  and  that  is  all 
I  know.  I  believe  it  was  a  sandbag  hove  from 
the  wings,  and  that  1  was  dragged  out  by  the 
heels." 

"  You  were,  you  were,"  Holworthy  shouted 
at  the  recollection,  "  but  it  was  done  so  quickly 
that  half  of  the  audience  did  n't  see  it." 

"  When  I  came  to,"  Ned  went  on,  "  I  was  on 
my  face  behind  the  scenes,  with  four  or  five 
able-bodied  Irishmen  sitting  on  my  back.  The 
'  super '  captain  was  going  to  turn  me  over  to 
the  cop  ;  but  I  begged  pardon  all  round,  paid 
for  the  leading  angel's  broken  head,  and  finally 
managed  to  smooth  things  over." 

"  They  are  pretty  careful  how  they  take 
amateur  supes  at  any  of  the  theatres  now. 


Harvard  Stories.  1 1 1 

Nothing  like  the  battle  of  Philippi  can  ever 
occur  again,"  said  Rattleton,  regretfully. 

"  Give  us  that,  Ned,"  said  Stoughton  ;  "  I 
guess  some  of  these  fellows  have  never  heard 
an  accurate  account  by  one  of  the  heroes." 

"  That  was  truly  the  grandest  suping  event 
in  history,"  said  Burleigh,  refilling  his  glass, 
and  returning  to  his  position  by  the  fire.  "  It 
was  just  after  that  new  theatre  was  opened, 
way  down  there  on  Washington  Street.  It  was 
a  cheap  shrine,  but  I  tell  you,  now,  Melpomene 
was  right  in  it.  The  owners  had  no  idea  of 
making  it  a  low-down  variety  hall,  not  much. 
They  were  going  to  give  high-class  perform 
ances  and  educate  the  masses.  One  of  the  first 
things  they  had  there  was  a  Shakespearean  re 
vival,  run  by  a  peripatetic  star  named  Riley. 
The  fellows  used  to  go  in  and  supe  all  the  time. 
They  rather  liked  to  have  Harvard  men  for  two 
reasons :  first,  because  it  was  cheap,  and,  in  the 
second  place,  I  think  Riley's  manager  rather 
expected  us  to  bring  all  our  friends  and  rela 
tives  there  to  see  us  act,  and  give  the  place  a 
boom. 

"  The  first  night  of  Julius  Ccesar  came  on 
Jim  de  Laye's  twenty-first  birthday,  and  he 


1 1 2  Harvard  Stories. 

was  going  to  give  a  dinner,  after  which  we  in 
tended  to  fill  a  box  at  the  show  and  give 
Caesar  a  good  send-off.  I  went  in  town  to  get 
the  box,  and  at  the  office  I  heard  the  manager, 
or  some  official,  complaining  about  lack  of 
supes.  I  made  inquiries,  and  it  ended  in  my 
contracting  to  furnish  him  with  ten  good  men 
and  true  for  that  evening  at  reasonable  rates. 
He  gave  me  as  a  bonus  a  few  tickets  for  any 
of  my  family  or  '  lady  friends.'  It  showed  how 
green  he  was  to  take  ten  of  '  de  Ha'vards  '  at 
once.  They  never  would  have  done  that  any 
where  else  in  town. 

"  The  other  chaps  all  fell  in  with  the  arrange 
ment,  and  we  had  the  dinner  at  Parker's  early. 
A  man  does  not  get  to  be  twenty-one  years  old 
every  day  in  the  year,  so  we  took  pains  to  see 
that  Jim  did  it  properly. 

"  That  lazy  goat  on  the  sofa  there  (pointing 
to  Rattleton)  had  not  been  seen  in  Cambridge 
that  afternoon,  and  knew  nothing  about  the 
suping  arrangement.  Of  course,  he  was  late  to 
dinner,  as  usual,  and  of  course,  as  usual,  he 

turned  up  with  that  d d  dog  of  his.  After 

dinner,  when  we  adjourned  to  the  theatre,  we 
wanted  him  to  leave  Blathers  behind  at  Par- 


Harvard  Stories.  113 

ker's,  but  he  insisted  on  taking  the  pup  along, 
wrapped  in  his  overcoat.  He  assured  us  that 
Blathers  would  keep  perfectly  quiet,  and  no 
one  would  ever  know  he  was  there.  We  might 
have  known  better,  but  I  suppose  we  were  in  a 
yielding  mood.  De  Laye  and  two  or  three 
others  brought  bottles  of  fizz  in  their  overcoats. 
They  said  it  was  always  well  to  propitiate  the 
natives,  and  thought  such  provisions  might  be 
popular  with  the  Thespians.  Jim  swore  he  'd 
make  noble  Romans  of  every  man  of  'em.  We 
got  there  early,  and  Blathers  was  tied  up  and 
hidden  away  under  Jack's  coat  in  a  corner  of 
the  dressing-room.  In  the  performance  we  all 
did  our  parts  like  little  men.  Rome  was  proud 
of  her  citizens  that  day.  As  for  our  mob-work, 
that  showed  positive  genius." 

"  How  Marc  Antony's  speech  over  the  body 
did  go  !  "  chuckled  Rattleton  from  the  sofa. 

"  The  stage-manager  was  delighted  and  com 
plimented  us,  and  so  did  Riley  himself.  Jack 
Rat  had  made  friends  with  Riley  very  early  in 
the  game.  He  had  invited  him  out  to  lunch  in 
Cambridge,  and  had  hinted  at  getting  him  to 
coach  the  Pudding  show.  Moreover,  Jack  and 
I  had  steered  several  large  parties  in  to  Riley's 


114  Harvard  Stories. 

performances,  and  Riley  knew  it.  It  was  a 
lucky  thing  for  us,  as  it  turned  out,  that  he  and 
Jack  had  got  so  chummy. 

"  All  went  well  until  the  battle  scene.  They 
had  put  us  all  on  the  same  side ;  in  fact,  we 
constituted  the  entire  army  of  Brutus — that 
was  another  evidence  of  greenness  in  the  man 
agement.  The  battle  had  been  raging  mildly 
for  some  time.  We  had  marched  and  counter 
marched,  and  had  been  reviewed  and  exhorted 
two  or  three  times,  without  even  getting  a 
glimpse  of  the  enemy.  At  last  it  came  to  the 
scene  where  Brutus'  aggregation  gets  driven 
across  the  stage  by  Antony's  offering  a  des 
perate  resistance.  Cassius  had  been  killed, 
young  Cato  was  going  to  be  captured,  and 
everything  was  going  to  the  bow-wows.  While 
we  were  standing  in  the  wings  along  with  An 
tony's  army,  waiting  to  go  on,  Jim  de  Laye 
said,  '  Hang  it,  let  's  put  a  little  real  good  act 
ing  into  this  thing;  these  stage  scraps  are  too 
woodeny.'  Of  course  I  did  my  best  to  restrain 
this  idea  among  my  companions,  but  it  became 
popular  at  once  in  spite  of  anything  I  could 
say.  I  must  confess  I  always  had  rather  a  de 
sire  myself  to  see  that  oily-mouthed  peep  of  a 


Harvard  Stories.  \  1 5 

Marc  Antony  well  thrashed.  The  next  min 
ute  we  had  to  go  across  the  back  of  the  stage, 
hotly  contesting  every  inch  of  the  way  with 
our  trusty  wooden  brands,  two  up  and  two 
down.  About  half  way  over,  that  crazy  Jim 
de  Laye  opened  the  ball  by  smiting  his  man 
hip  and  thigh  and  other  parts,  in  the  most  life 
like  manner.  The  other  supe  hit  back  in  just 
anger,  and  there  was  an  instant  rally  of  the 
Brutus  forces.  My  man  was  a  little  fellow,  and 
I  did  him  up  in  time  to  see  an  entirely  new 
feature  introduced  in  the  scene.  Marc  Antony 
himself  suddenly  appeared,  hard  pressed  by  a 
togaed  citizen.  The  way  he  got  there  was  this 
— correct  me,  Jack,  if  I  make  any  mistake  in 
this  part  of  the  history.  Blathers,  as  I  told 
you,  had  been  left  curled  up  under  a  coat  in 
the  dressing-room.  Some  of  the  employees 
had  found  him  there,  however,  untied  him,  and 
started  in  to  play  with  him.  Mr.  Blathers,  find 
ing  himself  in  strange  company,  slipped  away 
from  them  and  went  looking  for  his  master. 
Just  as  the  battle  scene  began,  he  arrived  at 
the  wings,  where  Marc  Antony  was  waiting  to 
go  on.  Antonius  was  in  very  bad  humor  about 
something.  He  asked  in  fluent  Latin,  'What 


1 1 6  Harvard  Stories. 

the that  dog  was  doing  there  ?  '  and  made 

a  kick  at  Blathers.  I  guess  Blathers  was  in 
much  the  same  mood,  for  he  turned  around 
and  effected  a  prompt  connection  with  the  calf 
of  Marc  Antony's  leg.  He  was  a  disappointed 
dog  ;  he  got  his  mouth  full  of  horsehair.  An 
tony  was  n't  touched,  and  let  Blathers  have  it 
with  the  other  foot. 

"  Now,  Jack  had  not  been  assigned  to  the 
army,  and  was  off  duty  in  that  scene.  He  was 
standing  in  the  wings  in  Roman  citizen's  clothes, 
trying  to  flirt  with  the  vestal  virgins. 

"  Hold  on,"  interrupted  Jack,  "you  told  me 
to  correct  any  mistake.  That 's  one." 

"  Well,  perhaps  they  were  not.  You  know 
more  about  that  than  I  do,"  admitted  Ned. 
"  Any  way,  he  turned  around  just  in  time  to  see 
his  faithful  hound  doing  somersaults  from  Marc 
Antony's  toe.  I  '11  do  Jack  the  justice  to  say 
that  he  is  generally  slow  to  wrath — he  is  too 
lazy — but  when  that  ugly  pup  of  his  is  con 
cerned,  he  loses  his  head. 

"  He  not  only  lost  his  head  that  time,  but 
tried  to  knock  off  Marc  Antony's  too.  Marc 
went  staggering  out  into  the  field  of  battle, 
and  Jack,  the  fool,  followed  him  up.  As  I 


Harvard  Stories.  1 1 7 

said,  the  battle  had  opened  in  earnest  all  along 
the  line  when  this  happened,  and  the  house 
was  already  on  it  's  feet.  It  was  a  good,  warm 
house.  It  was  mainly  from  Sou'  Boston,  and 
had  taken  about  thirty-five  seconds  to  get  on 
to  the  magnificent  realism  of  the  scene.  It 
went  wild  with  delight  at  this  addition  to  the 
affair.  Blathers  rallied  and  flew  out  on  the 
stage  to  the  support  of  Jack's  charge.  This 
time  he  tore  all  the  padding  off  Marc's  legs, 
amid  the  enthusiastic  plaudits  of  the  audience. 
"  The  stage-manager  yelled  for  the  policeman, 
and  went  tearing  about  after  him.  '  Colonel  ' 
Dixey,  of  Kentucky,  who  was  also  off  duty  in 
this  scene,  had  enticed  the  cop  into  a  distant 
corner,  along  with  the  departed  Caesar  and  a 
bottle  of  fizz.  J.  Caesar  was  a  tragedian  who 
would  have  been  dear  to  the  heart  of  a 
Puck  artist.  He  was  a  thirsty  soul  with  a  radi 
ant  nose  and  a  beery  eye.  Shortly  after  his 
death  he  had  attached  himself  to  Colonel  Dixey 
and  his  overcoat,  and  the  Colonel  had  warmly 
requited  his  affection.  In  fact,  Dixey  devoted 
two  whole  bottles  to  the  good  work,  and  at  the 
end  of  the  fourth  act  Csesar  had  had  some  dif 
ficulty  in  doing  his  own  ghost.  He  was  free 


1 1 8  Harvard  Stories. 

after  that,  and  during  this  last  act,  he  and  the 
Colonel  had  let  in  the  blue-coat,  and  retired 
into  a  secluded  nook  among  the  scenery.  The 
Colonel  had  filled  Caesar  up  to  the  brim,  and 
had  got  the  law  pretty  well  zigged,  too,  when 
the  manager  brought  the  news  of  battle.  All 
three  rushed  to  the  front,  the  cop,  of  course, 
getting  there  last.  The  conflict  was  at  its 
height,  when  dead  Caesar  appeared,  boiling 
drunk,  and  took  sides  with  inspiring  shouts 
against  his  own  avengers.  Dixey  pitched  in 
too,  and  these  reinforcements  turned  the  tide 
at  once.  Brutus  was  victorious  at  all  points. 
We  rushed  Marc  Antony  and  his  gang  clear  o£f 
the  field,  and  destroyed  the  flying  remnants 
behind  the  wings.  The  audience  fairly  howled 
and  encored  wildly. 

"  The  cop  was  utterly  useless,  he  grabbed  the 
small  man  that  I  had  floored  in  the  beginning 
of  the  row,  clubbed  him  a  little,  and  hung  on 
to  him  like  grim  death.  The  manager  was 
crazy,  and  told  him  to  send  for  a  hurry-up 
wagon,  and  run  us  all  in.  We  showed  the  law 
great  respect,  though,  after  the  shindy  was  over ; 
called  him  sergeant  and  offered  to  support 
him  in  maintaining  the  peace.  He  did  n't 


Harvard  Stories.  1 1 9 

know  exactly  who  was  responsible,  so  he  con 
tented  himself  with  shaking  the  little  man  some 
more,  and  declaring  that  he  could  *  attend  to 
this  business  alone,  and  did  n't  want  no  help, 
see  ? '  Marc  Antony  wanted  the  blood  of  Jack 
and  Blathers,  but  Riley,  the  star,  who  played 
Brutus,  was  inclined  to  think  that  Antony 
was  to  blame  for  the  whole  thing.  You  see 
Antony  had  got  more  applause  than  Brutus 
all  through.  His  great  speech  had  had  a  par 
ticular  success,  probably  due  to  our  able  pre 
sentation  of  the  populace.  Riley  sat  on  Marc 
first,  and  then  they  both  went  for  Caesar,  who 
was  maudlin  in  the  corner.  He  had  got  a 
helmet  on,  wrong  side  before,  and  was  begging 
us  with  tears  in  his  eyes  to  go  "  once  more  into 
the  breach,  dear  friends,  or  close  the  wall  with 
our  English  dead."  When  Brutus  cursed  him  he 
drew  himself  up  and  hiccoughed, '  Et  tu,  Brute, 
— hie — well — hie  you  seen  me  at  Philippi 
anyhow.' 

"  Riley  went  back  on  the  stage  and  made  a 
little  speech,  and  the  audience  cheered  him  to 
the  echo.  Then  the  play  went  on,  Brutus 
died  like  a  man,  and  all  the  principals,  includ 
ing  J.  Csesar  and  Blathers,  were  called  before 


1 20  Harvard  Stories. 

the  curtain.  Jack  made  it  up  with  Marc  An 
tony,  and  after  the  show  we  consoled  the  van 
quished  army  with  what  was  left  of  the 
champagne.  Most  of  the  supes  were  Irish,  any 
way,  and  had  enjoyed  the  pleasantry." 


IN  THE  EARLY  SIXTIES. 

IT  was  ten  o'clock  and  time  for  John  Stuart 
Mill  to  give  place  to  Mary  Jane,  so  Stoughton 
threw  the  former  into  an  arm-chair  and  took 
the  latter  from  the  mantel-piece.  He  filled 
and  lighted  her  affectionately,  and  the  content 
of  the  evening  pipe  came  upon  him.  Then  he 
bethought  him  of  beer  and  pleasant  converse, 
and  strolled  around  to  the  Pudding  in  pursuit 
thereof. 

There  he  found  the  usual  ten  o'clock  "  rest 
ing  convention "  in  session  beneath  its  blue 
cloud  of  nicotine.  The  "  earnest  resters,"  as 
Burleigh  termed  them,  were  stretched  about  in 
various  attitudes,  more  of  laziness  than  repose. 
They  were  just  then  engaged  in  the  popular 
pastime  of  blackguarding  the  last  number  of 
the  Lampoon  for  the  benefit  of  Hudson,  one  of 
the  editors. 

"  Hullo,  Dick,"  remarked  that  gentleman, 
glad  to  change  the  subject  as  Stoughton  en- 

121 


122  Harvard  Stories. 

tered,  "  we  knew  you  were  coming  ;  smelt  Mary 
Jane  as  soon  as  you  turned  the  corner." 

"  Did  you,  really,"  replied  Stoughton,  making 
room  for  himself  on  the  sofa  by  removing 
Rattleton's  legs  to  a  neighboring  chair,  and 
spilling  the  dog  Blathers  on  the  floor.  "  What 
was  that  chum  of  yours  doing  in  the  building 
last  night?  Were  you  also  engaged  in  the 
unseemly  disturbance  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Hudson,  "  I  had  nothing  to 
do  with  it.  I  decline  all  responsibility  for 
Edward  Burleigh.  I  am  not  my  room-mate's 
keeper." 

"  I  heard  him  carolling  on  the  stairs  at  an 
hour  when  singing  should  be  left  to  the  little 
birds.  He  hammered  on  my  door  for  a  while, 
but  I  knew  enough  not  to  get  up.  I  wonder 
he  did  n't  raise  the  proctor.  He  shouted, 
through  my  key-hole,  something  about  the  war 
being  over." 

"Yes,"  said  Hudson,  "  that  was  what  he  told 
me  when  he  woke  me  up  by  sitting  on  my 
chest.  He  was  going  to  carry  the  good  news 
all  through  the  Yard,  but  I  persuaded  him  to 
go  to  bed  and  wait  until  morning." 

"  Where  had  he  been  ?  " 


Harva  rd  Stories.  1 2  3 

"  Well,  you  see,  Jack  Randolph  carried  him 
off  yesterday  evening  to  a  meeting  of  the 
Southern  Club,  as  an  invited  guest,  to  span  the 
bloody  chasm  with  him.  They  spanned  it  a 
good  many  times  there,  I  guess,  and  then  as  it 
was  a  beautiful  moonlight  night  and  perfect 
sleighing,  they  decided  that  the  bloody  chasm 
ought  to  be  spanned  in  Brookline  and  other 
neighboring  towns.  So  they  got  a  cutter,  and 
must  have  conducted  spanning  operations  on  a 
wide  scale  all  over  the  country,  for  they  did  n't 
get  back  until  dawn.  George  Smith,  the  police 
man,  says  he  saw  them  sitting  on  the  steps  of 
Harvard  Hall,  singing  '  John  Brown's  Body ' 
and  *  Dixie/  and  hymns  of  peace  while  the  sun 
rose." 

"  I  deny  the  aspersion  on  the  Southern  Club," 
exclaimed  '  Colonel '  Dixey,  from  the  other  end 
of  the  long  sofa.  "  I  was  present  at  the  meet 
ing,  and  we  had  nothing  to  induce  sunrise 
hymns.  I  don't  know  what  Jack  and  Ned  did 
afterwards,  but  they  did  n't  get  it  at  the 
Southern  Club." 

This  somewhat  veiled  assertion  raised  an  in 
credulous  chorus :  "  Oh,  Dixey,  may  you  be 
forgiven."  "  Come,  come,  Colonel,  do  you 


124  Harvard  Stories. 

mean  to  persuade  us  that  an  organization  con 
taining  at  least  three  members  from  Kentucky 
is  run  on  a  cold-water  basis  ?  "  "  Where  is  the 
glory  of  your  old  commonwealth?"  "  Bet  the 
meeting  was  full  of  rum — rum  and  rebellion ! 
Don't  deny  it,  Colonel."  "  Drink  and  treason  !  " 
"  Neither,  sir,  neither,"  replied  Dixey  to  this 
chaff.  "  I  grieve  to  hear  such  narrow-minded  ac 
cusations.  Prexy  was  there  and  made  a  speech. 
— Oh,  Holworthy !  You  know  that  man  we 
saw  yesterday  in  the  Transept  of  Memorial? 
He  was  at  the  Southern  Club  with  Prexy." 
"Oh,  yes,"  said  Holworthy,  "who  was  he?" 
"  A  grad.  from  Georgia.  I  have  forgotten  his 
name." 

"  I  thought  he  was  a  grad.,  and  not  a  stranger, 
for  he  did  n't  have  a  guide  book,  and  did  n't 
ask  us  to  show  him  the  "  campus."  Had  he 
been  a  soldier?" 

"  Did  n't  say.  If  so,  he  was  probably  a  Confed." 
"  Well,  he  looked  like  an  interesting  old  cock 
anyway,"  said  Holworthy  to  the  others.  "  He 
was  standing  before  one  of  the  tablets  with  his 
hat  off.  Somehow,  when  we  saw  him,  our  own 
hats  felt  so  uncomfortable  that  we  took  them 
off,  too,  as  we  passed  through." 


Harvard  Stories.  1 2  5 

"  Holly  made  up  all  sorts  of  poetry  about 
him,"  added  Dixey. 

"  No,  I  did  n't;  but  I  do  think  he  did  the 
right  thing  in  uncovering." 

"  Of  course  he  did,"  said  Ernest  Gray,  em 
phatically.  "  No  man  ought  to  keep  his  hat 
on  in  that  transept." 

"Oh,  now  you've  done  it,  Hoi,"  groaned 
Stoughton.  "  You  have  started  the  '  Only 
Serious.' " 

"  We  get  too  careless  going  back  and  forth 
in  it  every  day,"  continued  Gray.  "We  don't 
fully  appreciate  it,  or  we  forget  what  it  means." 

"  Forget  what  it  means  !  Great  Scott,  Ernest, 
have  you  never  heard  a  Class  Day  oration  or 
poem?  What  would  our  inspired  youths  do 
without  the  poor,  hard-worked  old  transept? 
How  did  they  ever  get  inspired  before  it  was 
built  ?  Don't  we  have  our  hearts  fired  all  up  at 
least  once  a  year  on  that  subject?" 

"  Except  those  of  us  who  may  have  been 
previously  fired  by  the  Dean,"  put  in  Rattleton, 
with  a  contemplative  sigh  over  eminent  possi 
bilities. 

"  Well,  it  is  a  pity  then  that  the  Class  Day 
conflagration  doesn't  last  a  little  longer.  I 


1 26  Harvard  Stories. 

don't  believe  in  keeping  sentiment  for  special 
occasions.  It  would  be  better  for  all  hands  to 
preserve  a  little  of  it  throughout  the  year,  and 
in  this  place,  of  all  others,  I  should  think  at 
least  a  little  reverence  for  the  past  might  be 
kept  alive.  But  one  might  suppose  that  there 
was  no  such  thing  as  reverence  at  Harvard 
nowadays." 

"Hooray!"  "Hear,  hear!"  "Go  it,  old 
man  ! "  "  Good  for  the  Only  Serious  !  "  "  Pe 
gasus  in  a  canter  !  " 

"  That 's  right,"  answered  Gray  warmly,  to 
this  burst  of  invidious  encouragement.  "  Laugh 
at  anything  that  is  serious  or  the  least  approach 
to  feeling ;  it  is  the  fashion." 

"  Brought  on  by  over-doses  of  gush,"  re 
marked  Stoughton,  knocking  the  ashes  con 
temptuously  out  of  Mary  Jane. 

"  Of  course,  there  is  a  lot  of  twaddle  talked 
about  such  things,"  answered  Gray,  "  and  I 
acknowledge  that  exaggeration  tends  to  cheapen 
patriotism,  but  the  existence  of  a  lot  of  tinsel 
in  the  world  does  n't  make  gold  less  valuable, 
does  it?  " 

"  Quite  true, "  assented  Hudson,  "  and  be 
cause  Dick  Stoughton  smokes  such  a  pipe  as 


Harvard  Stories.  127 

Mary  Jane,  there  is  no  reason  why  we  should 
all  give  up  tobacco.  That  is  a  better  simile 
than  yours." 

"  Well,  it  is  a  good  thing  that  Harvard  men 
have  not  always  been  so  afraid  of  appearing  in 
earnest,"  growled  Gray.  "  I  don't  believe 
there  was  so  much  brilliant  wit  wasted  when 
men  were  leaving  college  every  day  to  join 
their  regiments.  I  wish  I  had  been  here 
then." 

"So  do  I,"  drawled  Rattleton ;  "  what  a 
bully  excuse  a  fellow  would  have  had  for  not 
getting  his  degree." 

"  What  an  excitement  there  must  have  been," 
went  on  Gray,  without  noticing  the  interrup 
tion.  "  Just  think  of  being  cheered  out  of  the 
Yard  when  you  left  for  the  war,  and  then  per 
haps  distinguishing  yourself,  and  coming  back 
to  Class  Day  with  your  arm  in  a  sling." 

"  Just  think  of  coming  back  in  a  pine-box," 
added  Hudson,  graphically. 

"  Well,  suppose  you  did  ?  You  have  got  to 
die  some  time,  and  your  name  would  have  been 
put  on  a  tablet  in  memorial." 

"Yes,  but  you  would  n't  have  been  tickled 
by  seeing  it  there,"  said  the  irritating  Stough- 


128  Harvard  Stories. 

ton.  "  Half  your  patriotism  is  vanity,  Ernest, 
you  shallow  theatrical  poser." 

"  It  would  do  you  men  good  to  read  the 
Memorial  Biographies"  Gray  continued,  now 
thoroughly  aroused,  and  paying  no  attention 
to  the  side  remarks.  "  They  ought  to  be  part 
of  the  prescribed  work  for  a  degree." 

"  Yes,  but  as  Hudson  says,  you  could  n't  do 
that  if  you  were  a  biographee,"  reasoned  Dane 
Austin,  the  law-school  man,  taking  a  hand  in 
the  baiting. 

"  It  would  be  perfectly  disgusting  to  hear 
you  fellows  talk  this  way,"  Gray  declared,  "  if 
one  did  n't  know  that  it  was  all  affectation.  I 
am  not  sure  that  that  fact  does  not  make  it 
worse.  You  all  really  feel  just  as  I  do,  but 
you  are  afraid  to  say  so." 

"  Another  appalling  case  of  Harvard  indiffer 
ence,"  observed  Stoughton.  "The  modern 
dilettante  has  no  noble  desire  for  red  war." 

"  He  likes  to  make  people  believe  that  he 
has  no  noble  desire  for  anything,  and  he  has  a 
morbid  fear  of  being  a  hypocrite.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  you  are  all  of  you  the  worst  kind  of 
hypocrites,  for  you  try  to  appear  worse  than 
you  are." 


Harvard  Stories.  1 29 

"  Oh,  dear,  no,"  Rattleton  protested,  lazily, 
"  that  would  be  too  hard  work  for  any  of  this 
crowd — except  me." 

"  A  war  would  be  a  good  thing  to  stir  you 
up.     I  almost  wish  the  war  times  would  com 
again,"  exclaimed  Gray,  hotly. 

"  Now  you  are  getting  right  down  to  work," 
laughed  Hudson.  "What  a  rise  we  are  getting 
out  of  our  earnest  young  man  to-night." 

"  You  let  your  feelings  get  away  with  you, 
Gray,"  added  Holworthy.  "  I  don't  believe  it 
was  all  glory  and  enthusiasm  in  those  days. 
You  forget  there  was  another  side  to  it.  For 
instance,  Jack  Randolph's  governor  was  not 
cheered  out  of  the  Yard  when  he  left  for  the 
war." 

"Yes,  there  was  another  side  to  it,"  came  a 
voice  from  the  other  end  of  the  room,  and  a 
big  arm-chair,  that  had  been  facing  the  fire 
with  its  back  to  the  knot  of  men,  was  pushed 
around  so  as  show  its  occupant.  He  was  evi 
dently  one  of  that  wide  class  known  to  the  un- 
undergraduate  as  the  "  Old  Grads."  An  old 
grad.  attains  his  title  as  soon  as  he  ceases  to  be 
a  very  young  grad. ;  there  is  no  transition  de 
gree.  In  this  case  he  seemed  about  middle 


1 30  Harvard  Stories. 

aged,  perhaps  fifty,  with  hair  turning  gray,  and 
a  rather  deeply  marked  brown  face.  The  latter 
was  just  then  a  little  flushed,  and  had  the  ex 
pression  often  seen  on  a  face  that  has  just  been 
looking  a  long  time  into  a  fire  and  a  long  way 
through  it. 

The  lounging  students  started  a  little  at  this 
sudden  interruption,  and  stirred  as  young  men 
do  on  finding  themselves  suddenly  in  the  pres 
ence  of  an  older  one.  Rattleton  took  his  long 
legs  down  from  their  supporting  chair,  Hudson 
pushed  his  hat  back  from  his  nose  to  its  proper 
place,  Dixey  took  his  hands  out  of  his  pockets 
and  sat  up  straight,  while  Dick  Stoughton 
paused  in  the  act  of  relighting  Mary  Jane,  and 
when  the  match  burnt  his  fingers  forbore  to 
swear.  As  the  cause  of  the  disturbance  rose 
and  came  towards  them  they  stood  up.  Hollis 
Holworthy  showed  signs  of  positive  uneasiness. 
He  turned  bright  red  in  the  face,  as  he  recog 
nized  the  man  whom  he  had  just  described  as 
"  an  interesting  old  cock." 

"  I — I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  he  began,  "  I 
had  no  idea 

"  That  the  old  cock  was  present  ?"  laughed 
the  older  man.  "  I  assure  you,  my  boy,  that  I 


Harvard  Stories.  1 3 1 

was  not  in  the  least  offended,  and  even  had  I 
cause  for  offence,  I  deserved  it.  Your  remark 
was  a  retribution,  a  striking  repetition  of  his 
tory.  I  remember  once  asking  Holworthy  of 
'61  who  the  bully  old  boy  in  the  beaver  hat 
was,  and  the  bully  old  boy  proved  to  be  Hoi- 
worthy  '32.  Thirty  years  are  like  a  spy-glass — 
your  views  depend  upon  the  end  through  which 
you  look." 

The  thirty  years  melted  at  once  beneath  the 
laugh  that  followed  this  introduction,  and,  as 
the  stranger  took  a  chair  among  the  group,  the 
smoke  went  up  again  from  Mary  Jane  and 
other  pipes. 

"  Then  you  were  in  college  with  my  father  ?  " 
asked  Holworthy.  "You  must  have  been  here 
just  in  the  time  of  which  we  were  speaking." 

"  That  is  the  reason  why  I  took  the  liberty 
of  joining  so  abruptly  in  your  conversation," 
said  the  graduate.  "  I  want  to  tell  you  young 
men  a  story.  I  have  never  told  it  before,  and 
would  not  tell  it  to  any  other  audience,  but  I 
know  that  it  can  be  fully  appreciated  by  you, 
and  it  belongs  to  your  traditions.  So  I  am 
going  to  give  it  to  you,  if  you  do  not  mind  be 
ing  bored  for  a  while  by  an  old  grad." 


132  Harvard  Stories. 

"  I  don't  think  any  of  us  will  raise  any  serious 
objections,"  said  Stoughton,  as  he  paused. 

The  graduate  smiled  and  then  began :  "  As  I 
said  when  I  just  now  interrupted  your  discus 
sion,  there  was  another  side  to  the  glory  of  the 
war  times  in  the  old  college.  To  the  war  itself 
there  was,  of  course,  another  side,  and  I  was  on 
it.  Up  to  the  breaking  of  the  storm  we  boys 
had  not  troubled  ourselves  much  about  the  out 
look.  Most  of  us  took  politics  lightly,  and 
though  burning  then,  still,  among  us  at  least, 
they  were,  as  now  I  suppose,  more  the  subject 
of  good-natured  chaff  than  of  bitter  feelings. 
However  deeply  the  more  thoughtful  of  us 
may  have  felt,  they  never  allowed  their  convic 
tions  to  interfere  with  their  friendships.  Of 
course,  there  were  a  few  loud-mouthed  zealots 
who  made  themselves  disagreeable,  but  they 
were  as  much  so  to  men  of  their  own  opinions 
as  to  those  of  the  opposite. 

"  Hardly  any  one  really  expected  war,  or,  if 
he  did,  ever  said  so.  The  historic  shot  fired  on 
Sumter  was,  therefore,  as  much  of  a  shock  to 
our  little  community  as  to  all  of  the  North — 
even  more,  for  a  civil  war  meant  more  to  us. 
To  us,  you  know,  fraternity  is  a  reality. 


Harvard  Stories.  133 

"  When  the  news  came  so  that  it  could  not  be 
denied,  it  was  not  talked  of  between  us  South 
erners  and  the  rest.  Next  came  the  news  that 
my  State  had  gone  out.  That  night  my  chum 
Jim  Standish  and  I  sat  in  our  window-seat  and 
smoked  a  long  time  without  speaking.  Finally 
the  question  came  from  him,  *  Well,  old  man, 
are  you  going?'  I  said,  'Yes/  Then  he 
put  out  his  hand  and  I  took  it  hard.  When 
we  had  nearly  finished  our  pipes  Jim  spoke 
again,  '  When  this  is  over,  Tom,'  he  said, 
'you  will  come  back  and  get  your  degree  with 
us.'  I  shook  my  head,  I  remember,  and  an 
swered  :  '  It  won't  be  over  until  long  after  our 
commencement — or  else  Harvard  will  be  in  a 
country  foreign  to  me.' 

"  You  see  I  remember  that  evening  and  the 
conversation  very  vividly.  It  was  all  we  ever 
held  on  the  subject.  I  knew  what  Jim's  opin 
ions  were,  and  he  knew  mine  well  enough  ;  but 
he  was  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  make  my 
position  any  harder  for  me  than  it  was.  I  was 
going  to  do  what  I  considered  my  duty, — let 
that  pass  now  also  ;  it  was  more  than  a  quarter 
of  a  century  ago. 

"  Very  soon  the  letter  came  from  home,  but  I 


134  Harvard  Stories. 

did  not  need  it  to  hurry  me.  Jim  and  I  were 
together  almost  every  minute  until  I  went 
away,  and  all  my  other  friends  seemed  to  go 
out  of  their  way  to  show  me  courtesy  and 
affection. 

"  The  night  before  I  left  was  Strawberry  Night 
at  the  Pudding,  and  I  remember  I  had  intended 
not  to  go  to  the  rooms.  They  were  then  in 
the  top  of  Stoughton.  I  was  packing  in  my 
room  when  Jim  and  Harry  Rodes  and  one  or 
two  others  came  in,  as  a  committee,  to  insist  on 
my  going.  The  committee  accomplished  its 
purpose  by  the  usual  smooth-tongued  diplo 
macy  of  the  undergraduate.  They  told  me 
not  to  make  a  damn  fool  of  myself,  and  that 
if  I  did  not  come  round  like  a  man,  the  theat 
ricals  should  not  go  on.  So  I  went,  and  tried 
to  forget  on  my  last  night  in  the  Yard  that 
there  was  any  world  outside  of  it.  That  is  the 
play-bill  of  those  theatricals  hanging  over  there 
on  the  wall  now.  What  a  time  we  had  that 
night  ! 

"  I  went  home  next  day,  with  Clayton  Ran 
dolph,  Jack  Randolph's  father,  as  the  rising 
generation  always  puts  it.  There  was  not 
much  difficulty  in  getting  South  at  that  time. 


Harvard  Stories.  135 

I  enlisted  soon  after  I  arrived,  and,  as  a  result, 
was  rather  busy  for  four  years. 

"  Of  course,  for  a  long  time  I  heard  nothing 
from  Cambridge.  You  boys  know  how  almost 
the  whole  graduating  class  went  to  the  front, 
and  many  an  underclassman  did  not  wait  for 
his  Commencement.  You  can  read  the  degrees 
won  by  some  of  them  in  Memorial  Hall. 
Every  now  and  then  I  saw  in  that  precious 
booty,  a  Northern  newspaper,  a  name  that  I 
had  last  heard  called  in  a  recitation,  or  had 
myself  many  a  time  shouted  across  the  Yard. 

"The  stray  Northern  papers  were  not  my 
source  of  news  in  all  cases.  There  was  one 
name  that  for  a  time  was  in  the  mouths  of  all 
our  men,  and  I  had  to  risk  their  scorn  and  sus 
picion  in  defending  it.  They  would  hardly  be 
lieve  that  the  man  who  could  lead  a  black  regi 
ment,  and  die  in  the  front  of  his  niggers  in  that 
terrible  charge  on  Fort  Wagner,  was  not  a 
hardened  ruffian,  a  desperate  mercenary,  but  a 
fair-haired  boy  of  five-and-twenty,  and  the 
most  sunny,  lovable  gentleman  that  ever  left 
the  ballroom  for  the  battle-field. 

"  I  saw  myself  the  fall  of  a  man  of  different 
mould,  but  of  the  same  metal.  We  were  hold- 


136  Harvard  Stories. 

ing  a  strong  position  and  had  repulsed  two 
heavy  charges,  when  we  saw  the  enemy  form 
ing  for  a  third.  This  time  they  came  closer 
than  in  either  of  the  previous  attempts,  and  it 
looked  for  a  minute  as  if  they  would  reach  us. 
But  our  fire  was  frightful,  aided  by  several 
batteries  that  were  pouring  in  grape  and  canis 
ter  at  short  range.  The  regiment  immediately 
in  front  of  us  came  on  well ;  but  no  body  of 
men  could  stand  it,  and  at  last  it  wavered  and 
then  broke.  Through  the  smoke  I  could  see 
a  mounted  officer  tearing  about  and  trying 
desperately  to  rally  the  men,  striking  with  the 
flat  of  his  sword,  and  evidently  beside  himself 
with  anger.  Then,  as  he  found  it  was  no  use 
and  his  men  left  him,  he  turned,  rode  all  alone 
straight  at  us,  and  was  shot  through  and 
through.  I  have  seen  too  much  of  what  is 
ordinarily  called  courage  to  be  attracted  to  a 
man  solely  by  that  commonest  of  virtues;  but 
this  man's  splendid  scorn  of  surviving  his  failure, 
his  fury  at  what  he  considered  disgrace,  and  his 
deliberate  self-sacrifice,  lifted  his  act  above  the 
common  run  of  bravery.  That  man  had  breed 
ing,  and  I  wanted  to  have  a  look  at  him, 
After  the  fight  was  over,  I  went  to  where  he 


Harvard  Stories.  137 

lay  dead  with  his  horse.  It  was  Boredon  of 
'61.  I  had  hated  that  man.  He  had  been  one 
of  those  disagreeable  cranks  of  whom  I  have 
spoken,  a  man  absorbed  with  one  idea  and 
allowing  that  idea  to  color  all  his  feelings,  and 
spoil  his  manners.  He  had  been  to  me  as  a 
red  rag  to  a  bull.  But  when  I  recognized  him 
there,  I  would  have  given  a  great  deal  to  have 
been  able  to  tell  him  how  proud  I  was  of  him. 
Evidently  he  had  at  least  the  hard  part  of  a 
gentleman.  I  went  back  to  my  brother  officers, 
and,  with  a  good  deal  of  boyish  swagger  I  am 
afraid,  said  to  them,  '  That  fellow  was  at  Har 
vard  with  me.  That  is  the  sort  of  fools  they 
make  there.' 

"  Well,  the  war  went  on  until  we  were  hemmed 
in  around  Richmond  in  '64.  It  was  at  that 
time  that  I  ran  across  Clayton  Randolph,  whom 
I  had  not  seen  since  we  left  Cambridge  to 
gether.  I  came  near  not  recognizing  him  in 
the  circumstances  in  which  I  found  him.  A 
battery  of  artillery  had  got  stuck  in  the  mud, 
but  as  I  came  up  to  it  the  last  gun  was  being 
dragged  out.  An  officer  seemed  to  be  doing 
most  of  the  work,  shoving  on  the  wheels  and 
encouraging  his  tired  men.  Shortly  afterwards 


1 38  Harvard  Stories. 

we  were  again  halted  next  to  the  same  battery } 
and  there  was  the  same  officer  sitting  on  a 
stump.  His  old  uniform  was  covered  with  mud 
and  axle-grease ;  his  beard  was  four  days'  old  ; 
but  he  was  Clayton  Randolph,  Randolph  the 
dandy,  Randolph,  the  model  of  neatness,  whose 
perfect  clothes  had  always  been  an  object  of 
chaff  among  us ;  Randolph,  whose  heaviest 
labor  had  been  to  polish  his  hat,  and  deepest 
thought  to  plan  a  dinner.  He  was  sharing  his 
piece  of  stale  cornbread  with  a  hungry  little 
darky.  You  may  imagine  that  we  were  rather 
glad  to  see  each  other.  Clayton,  however,  had 
no  more  Cambridge  news  to  give  me  than  I 
had  to  give  him,  which  was  rather  a  disappoint 
ment.  His  battery  was  stationed  near  my 
regiment  that  winter,  so  we  managed  to  see  a 
good  deal  of  each  other  in  camp. 

"  One  day,  as  I  was  sitting  in  front  of  my  tent, 
I  saw  Clayton  come  galloping  into  the  com 
pany  street  as  though  carrying  urgent  de 
spatches.  On  seeing  me  he  began  shouting 
and  waving  his  cap,  as  if  there  was  danger  that 
I  might  not  see  him  and  hear  what  he  had  to 
say.  He  was  evidently  beside  himself  about 
something, — and  so  was  I,  when  he  pulled  up 


Harvard  Stories.  1 39 

and    yelled:     'What     do    you     think?       Jim 
Standish  is  in  Libby  prison ! ' 

"  I  forget  how  he  had  learned  this,  but  I 
remember  he  was  very  sure  of  it.  By  great 
luck  and  much  energy  we  both  managed  to  get 
leave  that  same  day,  and  go  to  Richmond  to 
gether  ;  but  we  were  disappointed  in  our  hopes 
of  seeing  Jim.  We  turned  every  stone  we 
could,  and  tried  our  best  with  the  authorities, 
but  it  was  no  use  ;  we  could  not  get  into  the 
prison.  There  had  been  several  escapes  at  that 
time,  and  no  visitor  of  any  sort  was  allowed  to 
enter.  The  provost  in  charge,  however,  who 
knew  Clayton,  told  us  we  might  send  Jim  a 
letter,  subject,  of  course,  to  its  examination  by 
the  authorities.  So  we  wrote  him  that  we  were 
there,  and  asked  if  there  was  anything  he  wanted 
us  to  send  him.  We  explained  that  we  could  not 
get  in  to  see  him,  but  that  he  must  write  us  all 
the  news  he  could. 

"  In  a  short  time  the  guard  who  had  taken 
our  note  came  back  and  asked  what  relation 
to  us  '  that  young  feller '  was.  We  told  him  no 
relation  by  blood,  but  something  a  little  closer, 
perhaps.  'Well,'  said  he,  *I  never  saw  a  feller 
take  on  so  when  I  give  him  your  note.  He 


140  Harvard  Stories. 

begged  me  to  let  him  talk  to  you,  and  he  most 
cried.  Then  he  begged  worse  kind  just  to  let 
him  look  out  of  a  window  where  he  could  see 
you.  He  asked  which  side  of  the  house  you 
was  on,  and  I  reckon  if  I  'd  ha'  told  him  he  'd 
ha'  made  a  break  for  the  window  and  risked  my 
shootin'  him.  I  was  right  sorry,  but  I  could  n't 
do  nothin'  for  him  but  get  him  some  paper. 
He  's  writin'  you  a  letter  now,  and  says  for  you 
to  be  sure  and  wait  for  it.' 

"  There  was  no  danger  of  our  not  waiting  for 
it.  Neither  of  us  had  heard  a  word  from  the 
old  place  or  from  any  of  our  friends  for  three 
years.  I  suppose  none  of  you  boys  has  ever 
been  separated  from  his  college  friends  for  a 
longer  time  than  the  long  vacation?" 

"  I  was  away  for  a  year  after  graduating," 
answered  Dane  Austin.  "  I  was  abroad  with  a 
classmate,  and  I  remember  the  first  long  letter 
from  one  of  our  chums ;  all  about  the  Spring 
field  game,  and  what  all  '  the  gang '  were  do 
ing.  We  read  that  letter  over  every  day  for  a 
month." 

"  Then  you  can  imagine  what  it  was  to  get 
news  after  three  years,  and  three  such  years. 
We  waited  and  waited  for  that  letter,  and  at 


Harvard  Stories.  141 

last  it  came  out  to  us — a  regular  volume.  I 
have  it  now.  I  don't  believe  Jim  ever  wrote  so 
much  in  all  his  college  work  put  together.  We 
sat  with  our  backs  against  a  wall  while  I  read  it 
aloud. 

"  First  it  gave  us  all  the  news  from  Cam 
bridge  ; — among  other  things,  that  we  had  won 
the  boat-race  on  Lake  Quinsigamond.  Ran 
dolph  said  that  almost  made  up  for  Gettysburg, 
and  we  had  a  little  cheer  all  to  ourselves.  I 
remember  a  man  came  running  up  to  hear  what 
the  news  was  and  whether  the  Yankees  had 
been  licked  anywhere.  We  told  him  not  that 
we  knew  of,  but  Harvard  had  beaten  Yale,  and 
he  went  off  damning  us  for  making  such  a  row 
about  nothing.  The  letter  went  on  to  say  that 
there  would  probably  be  no  race  that  year,  as 
most  of  the  rowing  men  had  gone  off  to  the 
war.  Almost  all  of  our  old  set  had  gone  into 
the  army,  it  said.  That  jolly,  good-for-nothing 
rattle,  bad  Bob  Bowling,  who  was  always  on  the 
ragged  edge  of  expulsion,  always  in  hot  water 
with  the  Faculty,  and  who  had  been  booked  by 
every  one  for  a  very  bad  end,  had  disappointed 
them  all  and  found  a  distinguished  career  in  a 
cavalry  regiment.  But  the  hero  of  the  class 


142  Harvard  Stories. 

was  little  Digges,  *  Nancy '  Digges,  the  quiet, 
shy,  little  pale-faced  student  who  looked  as  if 
he  would  blow  away  in  a  strong  wind,  and 
whom  no  one  had  thought  was  good  for  any 
thing  but  grubbing  for  Greek  roots.  This  man 
had  been  promoted  several  times  for  gallantry. 
At  Gettysburg,  when  Longstreet's  corps  was 
right  on  top  of  his  battery,  when  his  supports 
had  been  driven  in,  his  horses  shot,  and  his 
gunners  were  falling  around  him,  he  had 
dragged  his  guns  back  by  hand,  one  by  one, 
and  stopped  to  spike  the  last  while  one  of  our 
men  was  reaching  for  him  with  a  bayonet. 
When  I  read  this  we  both  exclaimed  :  *  Well, 
I  '11  be  hanged,  Little  Nancy  ! '  " 

"  It  was  at  Gettysburg  also  that  Jim  had  seen 
Harry  Rodes.  The  last  time  that  Jim  had  seen 
him  before  that  was  just  before  leaving  college, 
when  Rodes  had  been  elected  president  of  the 
Hasty  Pudding  ;  this  time  he  was  lying  in  the 
grass,  where  it  was  red.  There  was  like  news 
of  several  other  old  chums. 

"'As  for  your  humble  servant,' Jim  wrote, 
'  he  has  only  succeeded  in  getting  himself  ig- 
nominiously  jugged  by  your  Johnnies.'  I  heard, 
long  afterwards,  how  he  had  been  captured,  pin- 


Harvard  Stories.  1 43 

ned  under  his  dead  horse,  with  a  broken  sabre, 
and  three  of  our  men  to  his  score.  *  This  is  not 
so  much  fun,'  he  went  on,  '  as  that  night  in 
the  Newton  jail,  which  perhaps  you  may  re 
member,  Tom.  You  got  me  into  that,  you 
riotous  companion  and  perverterof  my  youth.' 
I  remembered  that  scrape  of  our  Sophomore 
year  very  well,  but  I  had  a  strong  impression 
that  it  was  Jim  who  upset  the  officer  of  the 
law.  He  told  us  he  could  stand  Libby,  how 
ever,  well  enough,  if  he  only  had  a  little  smoke, 
and  asked  if  we  could  not  give  aid  and  comfort 
to  the  invader  in  the  shape  of  tobacco.  At 
this  Randolph  exclaimed  :  '  Jim  Standish  with 
out  his  pipe !  That  is  a  real  case  of  suffering 
among  the  prisoners  ! '  The  letter  wound  up 
with  an  injunction  to  answer  it  at  once  and  tell 
all  about  ourselves  and  the  other  boys  on  our 
side,  and  with  the  hope  that  we  should  all  be 
at  the  next  triennial  dinner. 

"  As  soon  as  we  had  read  the  letter  we  went 
off  and  spent  all  our  savings  in  tobacco.  That 
was  the  only  cheap  thing  in  Richmond  in  those 
days,  and  we  got  enough  to  last  Jim  for  months, 
though  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  at  once  gave 
most  of  it  away.  Then  we  got  some  paper, 


144  Harvard  Stories. 

and  wrote  him  all  we  knew  of  the  Harvard 
men  on  our  side  of  the  fence.  We  could  give 
an  equally  good  account  of  them,  too  ;  for 
though,  as  disobedient  children,  Alma  Mater 
has  frowned  on  us,  she  never  had  cause  to 
blush.  We  finished  the  letter  before  it  was 
time  for  us  to  go  back  to  camp,  and  sent  it 
with  the  tobacco  to  Jim.  We  promised  to  try 
again  to  see  him,  but  neither  of  us  could  get 
leave  for  a  long  time.  If  we  had  there  would 
have  been  little  chance  of  our  getting  into 
Libby  ;  and  if  we  had  gotten  into  Libby,  we 
should  not  have  found  Jim  there." 

As  the  speaker  paused  Stoughton  asked, 
"  Why?  did  he  es "  and  then  stopped,  in 
wardly  cursing  himself,  as  he  noticed  a  look 
that  was  coming  into  the  face  of  the  narrator. 
But  the  latter  at  once  relieved  him  immensely 
by  continuing. 

"  Yes,  he  escaped — very  soon  after  our  visit. 
A  lot  of  prisoners  got  out  together,  Jim  among 
them.  The  news  was  sent  to  all  the  troops 
near  Richmond  and  instructions  to  keep  a 
sharp  lookout  for  them.  Jim  managed  to  get 
to  our  very  outer  lines,  and  one  pitch-dark 
night  tried  to  run  the  picket.  The  officer  in 


Harvard  Stories.  145 

command  saw  him  in  the  brush  and  challenged 
him.  Jim,  trusting  to  the  darkness  and  his  old 
hundred-yard  records,  tried  to  make  a  dash  for 
it.  The  officer  fired  and  shot — shot  him  down 
like  a  dog." 

The  speaker's  cigar  had  apparently  gone  out, 
and  no  one  looked  at  him  while  he  relit  it. 
They  looked  at  the  walls  where  the  firelight 
danced  over  the  rollicking  play-bills  of  thirty 
years  ago.  In  a  moment  the  graduate  spoke 
again  : 

"As  I  leaned  over  the  dearest  friend  I  ever 
had,  we  recognized  each  other  and  he  smiled. 
I  took  his  head  in  my  lap  and  he  died  holding 
my  hand." 

"  Then  you  saw  him  before  he  died  ?  Were 
you  with  the  picket  ?  "  asked  Gray. 

"  Yes. — I  commanded  the  picket." 


LITTLE  HELPING  HANDS. 

IT  was  all  the  result  of  a  violent  discussion 
in  Stoughton's  room.  Hudson  held  that  four 
miles  an  hour  was  an  easy  walking  gait ;  Stough- 
ton  and  Gray  said  it  was  n't. 

"  I  tell  you/'  said  the  latter,  "  when  you  are 
doing  better  than  three  and  a  half,  you  are  hit 
ting  it  up  pretty  well,  and  you  could  n't  keep 
it  up  for  any  length  of  time.  Don't  you  re 
member,  Dick,  we  timed  ourselves  when  we 
walked  out  from  Boston  the  other  night  ?  It 
took  us  fifty  minutes  from  the  corner  of  Charles 
and  Cambridge  Streets,  and  that  is  just  about 
three  miles." 

"  Yes,  and  we  went  at  a  pretty  good  pace 
too,"  added  Stoughton. 

"  That  was  probably  after  a  supper  at  Billy 
Parks',"  Hudson  explained  ;  "  under  those  cir 
cumstances  you  undoubtedly  covered  a  great 
many  more  miles  than  the  crow  flies  between 
here  and  Boston." 

146 


Harvard  Stories.  147 

"  No,  witty  youth,  it  was  n't  anything  of  the 
kind.  We  don't  follow  in  your  footsteps,"  re 
torted  Dick  to  this  innuendo.  "  No,  sir,  you 
could  n't  walk  four  miles  an  hour  all  day  to 
save  your  neck." 

"  I  'm  betting  I  could,"  Hudson  replied,  "  I 
have  done  it  often  out  shooting." 

"  I  dare  say  you  thought  so  ;  have  you  ever 
tried  it  over  a  measured  stretch?" 

"  No,  but  I  can  guess  at  about  what  rate  I  am 
walking,  and  four  miles  an  hour  is  a  good  easy 
swing.  I  '11  bet  you  a  V  that  I  can  do  twenty- 
four  miles  in  six  hours." 

"  I  '11  take  that,"  answered  Stoughton, 
promptly. 

"  So  will  I,  if  you  offer  the  same,"  said  Gray. 

"  Yes,  I  '11  bet  with  you,  too,"  said  Hudson. 

Just  at  that  moment  Ned  Burleigh  came  in, 
going  through  the  form  of  giving  the  door  a 
thump  as  he  opened  it,  and  telling  himself  to 
come  in. 

"  What  are  you  abandoned  sports  betting 
about  now?  "  he  asked,  as  he  covered  the  whole 
front  of  the  fireplace  as  usual. 

"  Steve  thinks  he  can  walk  twenty-four  miles 
in  six  hours,"  answered  Stoughton,  "  and  we 


148  Harvard  Stories. 

each  have  five  dollars  worth  of  opinion  that  he 
can't.  What  do  you  think  about  it?" 

"  I  don't  know ;  he  is  a  pretty  fast  young 
man.  Is  it  to  be  on  a  cinder  track,  or  over  an 
ordinary  road  ?  That  would  make  a  great  dif 
ference." 

"  Have  you  any  fond  hope,"  asked  Hudson, 
"  that  I  am  going  to  make  a  Roman  holiday  of 
myself  on  Holmes'  Field  for  the  edification  of 
you  children  and  the  whole  University  ?  J  am 
quite  aware  that  that  is  just  what  you  would 
like  ;  you  would  be  out  there  with  a  brass  band. 
No,  my  friend,  I  ask  for  no  advantages.  I 
am  quite  willing  to  take  my  chances  over  any 
ordinary  country  road,  and  in  ordinary 
clothes." 

"  Extraordinary  English  knickerbockers,  you 
mean,"  corrected  Ned. 

"  You  can  take  the  road  from  here  to  Fram- 
ingham,"  suggested  Stoughton.  "  That  is  a 
perfectly  straight  one  and  you  can't  miss  it. 
It  is  a  little  short  of  twenty-four  miles,  but  we 
will  allow  you  the  slight  difference." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that  road,"  said  Hudson.  "  I 
drove  over  it  when  I  was  at  school  at  South- 
borough.  Strike  the  Worcester  turnpike,  don't 


Harvard  Stories.  1 49 

you,  after  crossing  the  river  at  Watertown,  and 
then  keep  on  through  Newton,  Wellesley,  Na- 
tick,  and  all  those  places  ?  All  right,  I  '11  take 
that  road. 

Ned  Burleigh  reflected  a  moment.  "  I  think," 
he  admitted,  with  a  shake  of  his  head,  "  that  it 
can  certainly  be  done  by  any  man  with  strength 
and  sand  ;  but  Steve  Hudson  can't  do  it." 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what,  old  fatty-cakes,"  declared 
Hudson,  indignantly,  "  I  '11  bet  you  ten  dollars 
on  the  event." 

"  No,  I  won't  go  you  ten,  because  I  don't 
believe  in  betting  so  much  on  a  certainty. 
Besides,  you  are  hard  up  now,  and  you  would 
undoubtedly  borrow  from  me  the  money  with 
which  to  pay  me  your  bet.  I  can't  afford  to 
have  you  do  that,  sweet  me  child,  but  I  will 
contribute  a  five  like  the  others,  towards  this 
purse." 

It  was  arranged  that  Hudson  should  choose 
his  day,  and  give  notice  of  it  to  the  others  in 
the  morning.  Then  the  tones  of  the  ancient 
bell,  tolled  by  the  ancient  Jones,  came  from  the 
ancient  belfry  of  Harvard  Hall,  and  Hudson 
and  Gray  went  over  to  a  recitation  in  Univer 
sity  Hall. 


1 50  Harvard  Stories. 

When  they  had  gone  Burleigh  delivered  him 
self  of  a  great  whoop  of  ecstasy.  "  He  can  do 
it  easily,  I  know/'  he  said.  "  We  shall  lose  our 
money,  but,  Great  Csesar,  it  will  be  worth  the 
admission.  We  must  get  all  the  others  to  bet 
with  him,  too,  so  that  he  won't  back  out.  Let 's 
go  and  get  ready  for  it  at  once." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  queried  Stoughton, 
"  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Can't  you  guess,  Mack,  you  Eyetalian  ? 
Come  on,  I  '11  tell  you,"  and  they  went  out 
over  the  Square  towards  a  printer's. 

Three  or  four  days  after  this  Hudson  ap 
peared  at  breakfast  in  his  walking  breeches  and 
big  Scotch  stockings  and  announced  he  was 
going  to  start.  He  would  leave  Harvard  Square 
at  half-past  ten  o'clock  and  arrive  at  the  town 
hall  in  Framingham  at  half-past  four  on  that 
afternoon. 

Stoughton  and  Gray  said  that  they  might  be 
at  the  finish  to  receive  him,  if  they  found  noth 
ing  better  to  do,  otherwise  he  could  time  him 
self  at  the  finish.  Both  of  these  men  had  ten 
o'clock  lectures,  so  they  could  not  see  him 
start.  Holworthy  and  Randolph  had  promised 
to  make  up  a  four  for  a  morning  pull  on  the 


Harvard  Stories.  151 

river.  Rattleton,  of  course,  had  not  yet  come 
to  breakfast.  Burleigh  also  had  a  ten  o'clock 
that  he  felt  he  really  ought  not  to  cut  (it  did 
not  strike  Steve  at  the  time  that  this  was  no 
reason  to  Ned  for  not  cutting) ;  so  he  regretted 
exceedingly  that  he  would  have  to  let  Steve 
start  off  uncheered  and  time  himself.  He  would 
endeavor  to  be  at  the  finish,  however,  to  carry 
Hudson  home. 

Promptly  at  half-past  ten  Steve  left  Haryard 
Square,  with  a  swinging  stride,  and  struck  up 
Garden  Street  by  the  Washington  elm  and 
thence  to  Brattle  Street.  He  was  in  fine  form 
and  spirits  and  had  chosen  his  day  well.  It  was 
one  of  our  glorious,  manful  November  days  that 
have  had  much  to  do,  I  firmly  believe,  with  the 
progress  of  this  nation  ;  days  when  a  man  can 
do  anything ;  when  the  sparkling,  drinkable 
Northwester  floods  your  lungs,  and  swells  your 
chest  into  a  balloon  that  seems  to  lift  you  clear 
of  the  ground.  On  such  a  day  the  twenty-four 
miles  ahead  of  him  seemed  nothing  to  Hud 
son,  and  he  sprang  along  overflowing  with 
spirits. 

The  historic  University  town,  with  all  its  as 
sociations,  seemed  to  him  more  beautiful  and 


152  Harvard  Stories. 

interesting  than  ever.  Washington,  he  thought, 
might  have  taken  command  of  an  army  under 
the  old  tree  four  or  five  times  a  day  in  such 
weather.  No  wonder  Longfellow  could  keep 
the  Muse  at  his  fireside  in  that  fascinating 
Craigie  house.  As  he  neared  the  end  of  Brattle 
Street,  he  went  by  peaceful  Elmwood,  where  a 
poet,  ambassador,  scholar,  and  patriot  was  then 
ending  his  days  ;  and  buoyant,  youthful  Steve 
was  struck  by  that  perfect  waiting-place  for 
the  great  gentleman  whose  work  was  done.  He 
wondered  whether  any  of  his  friends  would  ever 
stir  and  honor  the  nation,  and  whether  the 
great  man  had  been  anything  like  them  when 
he  was  a  fool  undergrad.  The  traditions  of  the 
Hasty  Pudding  said  that  he  had  been  a  good 
deal  like  other  boys. 

Hudson  reached  Watertown  well  ahead  of 
time.  To  his  annoyance  he  saw  that  the  street 
through  which  he  had  to  pass  was  crowded, 
principally  with  small  boys.  ''Something  or 
other  must  have  happened,"  he  thought.  "  A 
dog-fight,  or  a  runaway,  or  a  man  carried  into 
a  drug  store.  If  the  attraction  is  still  on,  I 
am  all  right ;  if  not,  I  shall  have  to  run  the 
gauntlet." 


Harvard  Stories.  153 

He  soon  discovered  that  the  latter  apprehen 
sion  was  the  true  one,  and  that  he  was  in  for 
just  that  species  of  entertainment.  A  great 
cheer  went  up  as  he  approached,  and  a  body  of 
embryo  leading  citizens  ran  forward  to  meet 
him.  They  closed  in  all  around  and  escorted 
him  along  the  main  street  between  two  lines  of 
shouting  people. 

"  Hey,  mister,  give  us  some!"  "Go  on, 
you  '11  do  it ;  good  boy,  Wingsey."  "  When  're 
yer  goin*  to  fork  'em  out?  "  "  Rats,  dat  ain't 
him,  dat  fancy  guy  is  one  o'  de  Ha'vards,  sure." 
"Will  yer  look  at  de  jay?"  "Get  on  to  de 
legs  !  "  "  What  's  he  got  'em  wrapped  up  in, 
shawls  ?  "  "  Naw,  carpets."  "  Say,  mister,  yer 
pants  is  got  caught  inside  yer  socks."  "  I  guess 
them  is  English,  yer  know."  "Ain't  yer  going 
to  give  us  no  gum  ?  "  "A — ah,  let  'm  alone,  he 
ain't  nothin'  but  one  o'  them  stoodent  jays. 
He  ain't  no  winged  wonder,  a — ah  !  " 

The  above  was  what  Steve  enjoyed  in  his 
progress  through  Watertown.  He  finally  shook 
off  his  pursuers  on  the  edge  of  the  village,  and 
breathed  freely  again,  as  he  "  crossed  the  river 
and  mounted  the  steep."  The  beauty  of  the 
Charles  begins  at  this  point,  and  he  sat  down 


154  Harvard  Stories. 

for  a  minute  to  look  at  it  and  rest.  On  his  left 
was  the  first  dam,  the  end  of  navigation  for  the 
college  craft ;  on  his  right  the  river  wound 
away  from  its  high  banks  to  the  brown  meadows 
beyond.  While  he  sat  there  a  four-oared  crew 
shot  under  the  bridge  and  rested  on  their  oars 
in  the  quiet  pool  at  his  feet,  just  in  front  of  the 
falls.  He  knew  the  man  who  was  steering 
and  called  to  him.  "  Hullo,  Hudson,"  came 
the  recognition,  "what  are  you  doing  up 
here  ?  " 

"  Off  on  a  tramp.  Glorious  day  for  exercise, 
isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  you  have  no  idea  how  I  enjoy  this 
rowing,"  answered  the  coxswain. 

"  Have  you  seen  Holworthy  and  Randolph 
up  around  this  part  of  the  river?  " 

"  No,  they  were  coming  in  this  boat,  but 
backed  out  because  they  had  something  else 
on  hand,  I  believe." 

"  Oh,  did  they  ?  Well,  good-by,  I  have  got 
to  hurry  along.  I  am  walking  against  time." 

Steve  strode  on  through  Newton,  and  Newton 
Centre,  and  Newton  Lower  Falls,  and  all  the 
other  Newtons,  and  to  his  horror  he  found  in 
each  town  the  same  gathering,  and  went  through 


Harvard  Stories.  1 55 

the  same  ovation  that  he  had  received  in  Water- 
town.  Had  he  gone  to  work  and  picked  out  a 
public  holiday  ?  No,  he  was  sure  it  was  not  that, 
and  the  fact  that  it  was  Saturday,  and  the  schools 
had  therefore  turned  their  swarms  loose  on  the 
suffering  country,  would  not  account  for  all  of 
the  crowd  in  every  village.  Perhaps  there  was 
an  extra  election  going  on  in  that  county. 
What  puzzled  him  most,  however,  was  that  all 
the  urchins  seemed  to  expect  something  of 
him  besides  mere  amusement,  and  a  pitiable 
example  of  dress. 

He  passed  close  by  Joe  Lee's  at  Auburndale; 
several  children  ran  across  the  lawn  of  the 
famous  hostel,  and  after  "  sizing  him  up,"  went 
back  with  expressions  of  disappointment.  The 
worst  trial  of  all,  however,  was  the  battery  at 
Wellesley.  He  had  to  go  by  the  Female  Col 
lege,  or  Ladies' Seminary,  and  there  was  a  large 
group  of  the  students  of  that  institution,  by  the 
roadside.  Steve  had  never  before  been  afflicted 
with  bashfulness,  and  did  not  acknowledge  that 
he  was  troubled  in  that  way  now,  but  he  felt 
peculiarly  alone,  and  would  have  given  much 
for  another  man  or  just  a  few  less  girls.  By  the 
terms  of  his  bet  he  could  not  run  any  of  the 


1 5  6  Harva  rd  Stories. 

distance ;  but  a  giggle  almost  made  him  throw 
up  the  stakes  and  break  the  pace.  By  a  great 
effort,  however,  he  brazened  it  out,  and  even 
smiled  cheerfully.  He  made  a  penitent  inward 
resolution  never  to  lean  out  of  the  window 
again  when  a  girl  went  through  the  Yard. 

When  more  than  half  way,  he  stopped  to 
speak  with  a  farmer  leaning  over  the  fence  by 
the  road.  The  uncrossed  Yankee  of  the  rural 
districts  still  clings  to  a  prejudice  of  his  fathers, 
a  prejudice,  long  since  dropped  in  our  more 
progressive  communities,  that  a  man  has  a  right 
to  wear  what  he  chooses  and  do  what  he  chooses 
provided  he  neither  shocks  nor  interferes  with 
any  one  else.  This  old  farmer  looked  at  Steve 
with  wonder  and  interest,  but  did  not  think  it 
necessary,  as  had  the  good  citizens  of  the  factory 
towns,  to  heap  scorn  and  derision  on  "  de 
dood."  He  bowed  to  the  wayfarer,  as  he  would 
to  any  well-behaved  stranger. 

"  Good  afternoon,"  said  Hudson,  grateful  for 
this  drop  of  human  kindness.  "  Can  you  tell 
me,  sir,  how  far  it  is  Jo  Framingham?  " 

"  Wa-al,  abaout  nigh  on  to  ten  mile  or  more, 
they  call  it.  There  's  a  train  goes  pretty  soon  ; 
ye  won't  find  it  so  fur  in  the  cars." 


Harvard  Stories.  1 5  7 

"  Oh,  I  'm  going  to  walk  it,"  explained  Steve, 
with  a  smile. 

"  Thet  's  a  powerful  long  walk,  young  man. 
How  fur  ye  come  already?  " 

"  From  Cambridge." 

u  Gosh  !  Well  your  legs  is  young  and  pretty 
long,  but  ye  must  want  suthin  to  do'  pretty 
bad.  Be  ye  broke  or  anythin'  ?  Want  any 
victuals?" 

"  No,  thanks,  I  am  walking  for  fun,  trying  to 
do  it  on  time,  you  see." 

"  Mebbe  you  're  advertisin'  suthin'  ?  Oh,  I 
want  to  know !  Be  you  the  winged  wonder 
o'  Westchester,  or  some  sech  place  I  hear  tell  on 
jest  now  ?  " 

A  light  began  to  glimmer  in  Hudson's  mind. 
He  had  been  asked  several  times  if  he  was  the 
"winged  wonder,"  but  had  paid  no  attention  to 
the  question,  supposing  that  it  was  merely  a 
form  of  the  great  public  wit.  Now  it  was  asked 
him  in  perfect  good  faith,  and  the  name  of  his 
own  home  was  added  to  the  alliteration.  He 
began  to  connect  his  persecution  with  Holwor- 
thy  and  Randolph's  failure  to  row. 

"  No,"  he  answered  his  friendly  interrogator, 
"  not  intentionally,  but  I  am  beginning  now  to 


15^  Harvard  Stories. 

suspect  that  I  am  occupying  some  such  position. 
I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  informa 
tion.  I  must  move  along  now." 

"  Good  day,  sir  ;  guess  ye  '11  want  a  heap  o' 
corn-plasters  when  ye  git  to  Framin'am." 

"  Not  with  these  stockings,"  laughed  Hudson, 
glad  of  an  opportunity  to  justify  his  clothes, 
"  they  're  thick  and  soft,  great  things  to 
walk  in." 

"  They  be,  eh  ?  Well,  I  kinder  thought  they 
was  n't  just  for  looks.  I  don't  want  none  to 
day,  though,  good  day." 

"  Good-by,"  and  Steve  went  on,  feeling  sure 
that  the  old  man  still  suspected  him  at  least  of 
peddling  footgear. 

Just  before  the  end  of  his  tramp  he  sat  down 
for  a  rest  on  an  inviting  fence  rail.  He  had 
plenty  of  time  to  spare,  but  the  grassy  bank 
might  have  kept  him  too  long  and  made  him 
stiff.  Oh,  how  pleasant  that  three-cornered 
rail  did  feel!  A  piece  of  paper  blew  across  the 
road  and  whirled  up  in  his  face.  It  was  a 
hand-bill  of  some  sort  ;  he  remembered  now 
having  seen  several  of  them  along  the  way,  but 
had  picked  up  none.  He  caught  this  one  and 
turned  it  over.  This  was  what  he  read  : 


Harvard  Stories.  159 

HE  IS  COMING  ! 

WAIT  FOR  HIM  !    WATCH  FOR  HIM  ! 

THE  WINGED  WONDER  OF  WESTCHESTER! 

PEERLESS  PEDESTRIAN  PRODIGY! 

He  is  matched  to  walk  twenty-four  miles  to 
day  for  an  enormous  purse.  He  holds  world 
records  for  pedestrianism.  He  will  wear  one 
of  our  custom-made  London  suitings,  unex 
celled  for  natty  outdoor  wear  and  stylish  ap 
pearance.  They  are  all  the  rage  in  England, 
and  therefore  sure  to  be  popular  here. 

He  will  also  distribute,  gratis,  tops  and 
marbles  to  the  boys  and  chewing-gum  to  the 
ladies.  Watch  for  him,  everybody  ;  he  will  be 
here  soon,  and  will  follow  this  road. 

COME  OUT,  GIRLS!    COME  OUT,  BOYS! 

Now  is  YOUR  CHANCE. 

WAIT,  WATCH  FOR  THE  WINGED  WONDER 

OF  WESTCHESTER  ! 

The  glimmer  dawned  to  a  great  light.  He 
jumped  down  and  hurried  along  the  remaining 
mile  or  two  as  fast  as  his  weary  legs  would  go. 


1 60  Harvard  Stories. 

There  was  no  crowd  awaiting  him  on  the  out 
skirts  of  Framingham,  and  for  a  few  minutes 
he  hoped  that  he  was  going  to  at  least  finish  in 
peace.  Vain  hope  !  As  he  approached  the 
public  square  he  saw  it  crowded  with  people 
and  heard  the  strains  of  a  brass  band.  On  turn 
ing  the  corner  he  was  received  with  a  great 
shout.  Then  he  saw  a  sight  that  'explained  it 
all,  and  caused  him  to  exclaim,  "  The  three- 
year-old  idiots !  " 

In  front  of  the  town-hall  was  drawn  up  a 
barge  with  four  plumed  horses.  In  it  were  a 
band  of  music  and  a  full  delegation  of  Steve's 
devoted  friends.  Ned  Burleigh  was  up  on  the 
box  haranguing  the  populace. 

"  What  sort  of  a  fool  circus  are  you  children 
trying  to  make  of  yourselves/'  asked  Hudson, 
as  he  came  up. 

"  A  grand  one,  old  man,  and  you  have  been 
the  elephant,  the  shining  star  of  the  whole 
show,"  replied  Burleigh.  "  You  will  find  beer 
in  the  ambulance." 

"  You  have  won  the  money  handsomely, 
Steve,"  acknowledged  Stoughton,  "  and  we  all 
accept  with  pleasure  your  kind  invitation  to 
dinner." 


A  RAMBLING   DISCUSSION   AND   AN   AD 
VENTURE,  PERHAPS  UNCONNECTED. 

DICK  STOUGHTON  came  to  lunch  that  day  in 
a  decidedly  bad  humor,  cause  unknown.  He 
was  late,  and  all  the  other  members  of  the  club 
table  were  there,  including  the  two  dogs.  A 
"  Gray  baiting  "  was  going  on.  This  sport  con 
sisted  in  working  up  the  poetic  feelings  of 
Ernest  Gray,  and  then  ruthlessly  harrowing  the 
same.  Gray  was  a  fiery,  imaginative  little  man, 
whose  soul  compassed  far  more  than  his  body. 
His  impulsive  nature  drove  him  constantly  into 
the  net  spread  by  his  friends,  but  he  had  be 
come  used  to  the  process,  and  perhaps  it  did 
him  good.  Whether  or  not  he  had  in  him  the 
stuff  for  a  true  poet,  he  was  at  least  in  no 
danger  among  those  men  of  becoming  a  false 
one.  He  was  just  then  stirred  to  a  fine  con 
dition  on  the  subject  of  Philistinism,  was 
violently  supporting  the  famous  professor  of 
the  Humanities,  and  had  almost  got  to  the 
point  of  quoting  poetry. 
161 


1 62  Harvard  Stories. 

"It  makes  me  laugh  a  low,  sad  laugh,  "  re 
marked  Stoughton,  gloomily  buttering  a  muffin, 
"  when  I  think  what  Gray  will  be  doing  thirty 
years  from  now." 

"  We  have  arranged  all  that,"  said  Burleigh. 
"  Ernest  is  going  to  marry  a  strong-minded 
woman  four  times  as  big  as  himself,  who  will 
take  him  out  shopping  and  make  him  carry  the 
bundles  and  the  twins." 

"No,  it  will  be  a  greater  change  than  that," 
continued  Dick.  "  At  fifty  he  will  probably  be 
a  keen,  representative  business  man.  He  will 
be  celebrated  for  being  better  able  than  any 
one  in  Wall  Street  to  cheat  his  neighbor,  and 
he  will  be  absorbed  in  the  occupation.  He 
will  be  a  man  of  strength  and  stamen,  a  man  of 
industry,  a  plain,  hard-working  mail.  He  will 
publish  Letters  of  a  Parent,  in  bad  English, 
about  the  degeneracy  of  education  at  Harvard, 
and  will  refuse  to  send  his  sons  here  for  fear  of 
their  becoming  dudes  and  loafers.  He  won't 
spoil  good  paper  then  with  odes  and  fantasies ; 
he  will  devote  it,  instead,  to  watering  stock  and 
foreclosing  mortages.  Just  see  if  he  does  n't." 

"Are  you  narrow  enough  to  think,"  asked 
Gray,  defiantly,  "  that  a  man  cannot  work  in 


Harvard  Stories.  163 

this  world,  and  work  hard,  without  shutting  his 
mind  to  everything  outside  of  his  tool  shop  ?" 

"  Perhaps  he  can/'  answered  Stoughton,  "  but 
he  never  does  in  this  country ;  he  has  n't  time. 
Whatever  we  take  up,  we  have  got  to  keep  at 
fever  heat  or  else  go  to  the  wall.  It  will  be 
work,  work,  work  until  we  become  utterly  un 
interesting  machines.  It  can't  be  helped,  we 
have  got  to  make  up  our  minds  to  it  some  day 
and  we  had  better  do  so  now.  We  are  all 
wasting  four  valuable  years  in  this  anomalous 
spot  of  Cambridge,  when  we  ought  to  be  learn 
ing  bookkeeping.  We  are  a  nation  of  one 
sided  workers,  and  we  might  just  as  well  accept 
the  situation  philosophically.  I  am  sure  I  for 
one  don't  care  a  cent.  Only  I  wish  I  had  not 
fooled  away  my  time  so  long,  with  a  set  of  men 
made  up  of  dilettantes  and  bummers." 

Dick  emphasized  the  concluding  word  by 
handsomely  scooping  the  last  sausage  just 
ahead  of  Jack  Randolph,  who  with  a  bow  and 
wave  of  his  hand  gracefully  acknowledged  the 
defeat.  It  was  a  strict  rule  of  etiquette  at  the 
club  table  to  take  the  odd  trick  of  any  dish, 
whether  you  wanted  it  or  not. 

"  Hello,"  exclaimed   Burleigh,  with  a  happy 


1 64  Harvard  Stories. 

light  in  his  face,  "  Dick  has  waked  up  to  the 
seriousness  of  life  again.  That  is  the  third 
time  this  month."  Stoughton's  occasional  pes 
simism  was  as  fair  game  to  his  friends,  as  Gray's 
poetry,  so  the  victim  for  that  day's  lunch  was 
promptly  changed. 

"  So  he  has,"  added  Hudson.  "  He  has  a 
good,  old-fashioned  attack  of  remorse.  Where 
were  you  last  night,  Dick  ?  Must  have  been  an 
awful  spree." 

"  Is  it  a  letter  from  your  governor?  "  queried 
Rattleton,  sympathetically. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  the  letter  on  your  forensic," 
suggested  Randolph.  "  Jack  Rat  got  an  E. 
on  his,  but  just  see  how  sweetly  he  takes  it." 

"  A  little  serious  reflection  is  undoubtedly  a 
good  thing  for  you,  my  son,"  observed  Hollis 
Holworthy.  "  But  though  I  don't  want  to 
flatter  you,  excuse  my  saying  that  you  talk  like 
an  ass.  Even  if  your  premises  were  true  your 
conclusion  is  false.  If  we  Americans  are  all 
such  narrow-minded  money-makers,  that  is  all 
the  more  reason  for  trying  to  be  something 
better.  But  it  isn't  so.  I  don't  believe  work 
has  necessarily  any  such  effect.  Gray  is  right." 

"  My  conclusion  is  all  right.     The  difference 


Harvard  Stories.  165 

between  us  is  that  I  am  perfectly  contented  to 
be  as  the  rest  of  my  countrymen  are  ;  you  want 
to  be  something  different,  ergo,  you  are  a  snob. 
Furthermore  my  premises  are  true,  and  you 
will  find  them  so,  my  poor  children.  I  am  a 
few  years  in  advance  of  you,  that 's  all.  Just 
see  how  men  change  after  they  leave  college. 
Go  over  to  the  Law  School  and  look  at  those 
grinds,  each  one  working  night  and  day  to  get 
ahead  of  the  rest.  I  met  old  Dane  Austin  the 
other  day  crossing  the  Yard,  three  huge  books 
under  each  arm,  and  a  pair  of  spectacles  across 
his  nose.  He  used  to  be  the  best  built  man  in 
the  'Varsity  boat,  but  he  does  n't  touch  an  oar 
now,  and  won't  try  for  the  crew,  unless  they 
absolutely  need  him  at  the  last  minute.  He  is 
getting  red-eyed  and  pale,  and  looks  almost 
hollow-chested.  A  man  can't  keep  up  with  the 
law  and  pay  any  attention  to  his  physique. 
He  is  losing  all  his  strength  and  good  looks." 

"  You  had  better  hit  him  once  and  find  out," 
suggested  Holworthy. 

"  Thanks ;  I  don't  care  to  put  my  theories  to 
quite  such  a  test,"  acknowledged  Dick,  with  a 
grin.  "  But  it  is  true  just  the  same.  It  is  true 
of  every  other  occupation.  Go  down  to  New 


1 66  Harvard  Stories. 

York  and  stand  on  Wall  Street.  You  will  see 
a  dozen  men  you  knew,  at  least  by  sight,  in 
college,  men  who  used  to  be  well-dressed  and 
well-bred.  Down  there  they  rush  by  you  with 
a  nod,  in  all  sorts  of  costumes, — dirty,  slovenly, 
nervous.  Sometimes  they  will  stop  for  a  mo 
ment  to  shake  hands,  and  make  some  imperti 
nent  remark  on  your  clothes.  I  don't  mind 
the  prospect  myself,  but  I  am  only  laying  it 
fairly  before  you  blissful,  careless,  conceited 
youths." 

"  I  rather  think  you  will  find  that  those 
fellows  have  n't  forgotten  how  to  turn  them 
selves  out  properly  when  there  is  any  need  for 
it,"  said  Holworthy.  "  You  don't  wear  your 
town  togs  to  recitations  here." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  about  it,  this  work  and 
worry  does  spoil  a  man's  looks,"  said  Burleigh. 
"  Just  look  at  that  poor  wreck  over  there," 
pointing  to  Rattleton. 

That  student  had  finished  his  lunch  (or 
breakfast)  and  stretched  his  legs  as  usual  in  the 
next  chair.  He  was  engaged  in  throwing 
crackers  for  his  dog  Blathers  to  catch,  and  was 
rather  out  of  the  conversation.  He  caught  the 
last  remark  only. 


Harvard  Stories.  167 

"  You  have  no  idea  what  a  handsome  man 
I  'd  be  if  I  did  n't  work  so  hard,"  he  replied. 

"  It  is  all  right  for  you,  Jack,"  Stoughton 
went  on.  "A  watchful  Providence  has  sent 
you  an  income.  It  is  almost  a  pity,  though, 
for  you  would  make  a  fascinating  tramp.  No 
amount  of  either  starvation  or  public  opinion 
would  ever  make  you  change  your  calm,  philo 
sophical  life.  But  the  rest  of  us  must  all  get 
into  the  procession  and  keep  up  with  the 
brazen  band.  No  wonder  so  many  of  our  girls 
marry  Englishmen.  They  are  dead  right,  too  ; 
they  don't  want  to  marry  worn-out  machines, 
they  prefer  men." 

"  Hurray  !  "  shouted  Hudson.  "  The  secret  is 
out.  Some  Englishman  has  cut  him  out  with 
his  best  girl." 

"  I  am  not  handicapped  with  any  such  non 
sense,  thank  Heaven,"  growled  Dick.  "  But 
if  I  was,  by  Jove,  I  would  n't  be  fool  enough 
to  do  any  work  for  her  sake,  as  so  many  mis 
guided  men  do.  No,  sir,  I  'd  take  life  easily 
and  keep  my  figure,  as  our  trans-Atlantic 
cousins  do.  I  'd  spend  my  days  with  the 
daughter  and  live  on  the  old  man.  That  is 
what  girls  like,  and  they  do  have  some  sense." 


1 68  Harvard  Stories. 

"  That  is  perfect  rot,"  exclaimed  the  poetic 
Gray,  expressing  his  roused  sentiment  with 
more  force  than  grace.  "  Life  to-day  is  just 
what  it  was  in  the  days  of  chivalry.  A  true 
knight  must  prove  his  love  with  his  lance,  and 
win  his  wife  like  a  man." 

"  There  you  go,  of  course,"  answered  Stough- 
ton  ;  "  clap  your  leg  over  Pegasus,  and  off  across 
country,  regardless  of  hedges  and  ditches,  or 
the  narrow  roads  of  commerce.  Suppose  his 
lance  got  busted,  as  was  frequently  the  case  ?  " 

"  Sic  'im,  sic  'im  "  chuckled  Burleigh.  "  We 
have  got  the  poet  and  the  cynic  by  the  ears. 
Oh,  this  is  lovely  !  " 

"  Both  of  'em  amateurs,"  added  Holworthy, 
"  and  neither  knowing  what  he  is  talking 
about." 

"  Two  to  one  on  the  poet,  though,"  said 
Randolph,  "  He  is  always  in  earnest,  anyway." 

"  Shake  hands,  gents,"  said  Rattleton,  getting 
interested.  "  Time." 

"  Now  just  listen  to  me,"  said  Dick,  tilting 
back  his  chair  and  waving  his  fork  pedanti 
cally.  "  I  '11  give  you  a  really  accurate  picture 
of  your  dear  days  of  chivalry,  such  as  you 
never  got  out  of  a  romance." 


Harvard  Stories.  1 69 

"  Silence  for  Sir  Walter  Stoughton's  account 
of  a  tourney,"  commanded  Burleigh.  "  Steve 
Hudson,  pull  that  pup  of  yours  off  the  table ; 
she  '11  upset  the  milk  pitcher." 

"  I  have  just  been  reading  all  about  that  sort 
of  game,"  interrupted  Rattleton.  "  Seems  to 
me  they  were  a  most  unsporting  lot.  They 
had  no  classes  or  handicaps  ;  just  lumped  'em 
all  in  together,  feather-weights  and  heavy 
weights.  No  idea  of  a  fair  thing." 

"  Shut  up  your  childish  prattle,  Jack,"  com 
manded  Burleigh.  "  If  you  will  push  your 
researches  far  enough  you  will  find  that  the 
little  fellows  always  won.  The  giants  invari 
ably  got  the  heads  smote  off  'em.  We  are  not 
on  the  brutal  subject  of  prize-fighting,  we  are 
on  chivalry.  You  know  nothing  about  that,  so 
keep  quiet  and  let  Dick  go  on." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  an  idea,"  Stoughton 
went  on,  "  that  every  interesting  young  gentle 
man  who  entered  the  lists  was  a  sure  winner, 
and  then  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  crown  the 
heroine  as  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty  and  live 
happily  ever  afterwards.  Now  of  course  that 
was  n't  so.  Some  one  had  to  get  thrashed, 
and  most  young  knights  probably  occupied 


1 70  Harvard  Stories. 

that  position  for  the  first  ten  years  or  so  of 
their  career.  Take  an  individual  case ;  Sir 
Ernest  Gray,  bent  on  winning  glory  for  Dul- 
cinea,  looks  over  the  sporting  calendar  and 
enters  himself  for  every  big  field-meeting  during 
the  season.  He  bears  himself  right  bravely  in 
them  all,  but  gets  stood  on  his  head  with  great 
regularity  ;  in  fact  Dulcinea  gets  a  little  tired  of 
watching  his  performance.  Nevertheless  she 
goes  to  the  crack  meeting  of  Ashby  de  la 
Zouche,  to  see  Gray  try  again. 

"  This  tourney  is  carried  off  with  great  ease 
by  an  old  hand,  Sir  Thomas  de  Mainfort,  who, 
having  been  separated  from  his  third  wife  on 
the  ground  of  brutal  treatment,  is  not  doing 
any  love-proving  with  his  lance.  He  is  simply 
a  mug  hunter ;  he  is  in  for  the  white  Barbary 
steed,  and  the  other  fellows'  armor." 

"  Gate  money  ?  "  broke  in  Rattleton  inter 
rogatively. 

"  Same  principle,"  answered  Dick.  "  He 
wins  the  appointment  of  the  Queen  of  Love 

and  Beauty,  and  takes  d good  care  to 

choose  the  king's  elderly  daughter ;  thereby 
putting  in  good  work  for  a  government  office. 
Of  course,  none  of  the  fair  damsels  in  the  ladies' 


Harvard  Stories.  1 7 1 

gallery  are  in  the  slightest  degree  interested  in 
him,  that  goes  without  saying ;  but  do  you  sup 
pose  that  they  are  a  bit  more  interested  in  the 
poor  youngsters  whom  he  has  been  knocking 
about  ?  Not  much.  The  fellow  who  takes 
their  eyes  is  a  chap  in  a  white  satin  doublet, 
cut  in  the  latest  French  fashion,  who  has  sent 
flowers  to  Dulcinea,  and  is  hanging  over  the 
rail  of  the  ladies'  gallery,  talking  to  her.  He 
is  a  delightful  young  man.  He  can  sing  the 
songs  of  the  Troubadours  that  he  has  heard 
in  Provence.  He  knows  all  the  latest  gossip 
about  that  delicious  row  between  the  Pope  and 
the  German  Emperor.  He  spends  the  proper 
season  in  each  Continental  court.  He  is  so  dif 
ferent  from  the  homely,  insular  youths  who 
are  pummelling  each  other  down  below  in  the 
lists.  They  never  can  think  or  talk  anything 
but  fight.  He  says  funny  things  about  those 
youths,  and  criticizes  their  armor.  Altogether 
he  is  charming.  Handsome  and  well  preserved, 
too.  Splendid  figure,  and  could  undoubtedly 
fight  well  if  he  had  to  ;  but  he  does  n't  have 
to,  and  is  n't  fool  enough  to  do  it.  No  bruises 
on  him. 

"After  the  fight  is   over  young   Sir  Ernest 


172  Harvard  Stories. 

comes  along,  in  a  sheepish  sort  of  a  way,  to  see 
what  Dulcinea  thinks  of  his  day's  work.  Sir 
Ernest  was  a  pretty  good-looking  boy  when  he 
started  on  the  career  of  arms.  Now,  however, 
he  is  showing  marks  of  wear.  The  saddle  has 
made  him  bow-legged,  the  helmet  has  worn  off 
much  of  his  hair,  and  the  gauntlet  has  raised 
corns  on  his  knuckles.  Some  of  his  front  teeth 
have  been  knocked  out.  Besidos  the  wear  and 
tear  in  his  personal  appearance,  his  mind  runs 
largely  on  parries  and  thrusts,  relative  advan 
tages  of  chain-mail  and  Milan  plate,  and  all  that 
sort  of  shop  talk.  He  can  not  sing  the  new 
Romance  songs,  he  knows  only  the  old  ones 
that  his  nurse  taught  him.  Dulcinea  used  to 
like  him  very  much,  and  is  still  fond  of  him  in 
away.  If  he  had  accomplished  the  marvel  of 
winning  the  whole  tournament,  of  unhorsing 
the  old  veteran  De  Mainfort ;  if  he  had  won  the 
crown  of  Love  and  Beauty,  and  brought  it  to  her, 
giving  that  hideous  stuck-up  old  Princess  the 
go-by,  Dulcinea  would  have  loved  him  fondly, 
and  been  ready  to  marry  him  then  and  there. 
But  he  has  not  brought  her  the  crown  of  Love 
and  Beauty ;  he  has  only  brought  a  stove-in 
helmet  and  a  black  eye.  True,  he  has  been 


Harvard  Stories.  1 73 

fighting  his  level  best,  but  how  much  good  has 
it  done  him  ?  He  has  unhorsed  two  or  three 
young  men  of  his  own  weight ;  he  has  even 
put  up  a  stiff  set-to  against  big  De  Thumper, 
who  won  the  Templar  stakes ;  but  Dulcinea 
did  not  see  him  then,  she  was  talking  to  the 
interesting  foreigner.  Then  he  ran  up  against 
Sir  Thomas  de  Mainfort,  and  got  landed  on 
his  back ;  Dulcinea  was  looking  right  at  him 
that  time.  He  got  up  like  a  little  man,  with 
out  claiming  his  ten  seconds,  and  went  for  the 
redoubtable  Sir  Thomas  again.  Thereupon  the 
big  fellow  smashed  him  on  the  jaw,  and  put  him 
to  sleep,  so  that  it  took  his  squires  half  an  hour 
to  bring  him  round.  Dulcinea  took  that  in, 
too,  and  the  amusing  foreigner  remarked  on 
what  conceit  a  youngster  must  have  to  go  in 
for  this  sort  of  thing  against  men  like  De 
Mainfort.  The  highest  renown  that  the  young 
knight  has  so  far  won  may  possibly  be  a  line 
next  day  in  the  Ashby  Herald  and  Tournament 
Gazette.  It  will  run  something  like  this : '  Where 
are  we  to  look  for  the  De  Mainforts  and  Thum 
pers  of  the  next  generation  ?  There  is  absolutely 
no  new  material  worth  mentioning.  Young 
Gray  gives  a  little  glimmer  of  promise  in  some 


I  74  Harvard  Stories. 

of  his  back-strokes,  but  his  work  is  eminently 
crude  and  boyish.  However,  if  he  gets  over 
his  swelled  head,  he  may  in  twenty  or  thirty 
years  of  hard  work  become  a  fair  lance.'  Do 
you  think  that  helps  his  chances  with  Dul- 

cinea?  D that  dog  of  yours,  Hudson,  she 

has  stolen  my  muffin !  " 

"Are  you  all  through?"  demanded  Gray, 
who  had  been  restraining  himself  with  diffi 
culty. 

"  No ;  hold  on.  I  have  n't  shown  you  half 
your  trouble  yet.  At  the  banquet  in  the  even 
ing,  Gray  sits  on  one  side  of  Dulcinea  and  the 
handsome  stranger  on  the  other.  Gray  is  sore 
and  tired  and  comes  near  falling  asleep  at  the 
table,  while  the  other  fellow  discusses  the  Ital 
ian  painters,  and  tells  anecdotes  of  the  Dauphin 
of  France.  Gray  used  to  be  able  to  play  the 
harp  well,  and  can  still  play  sometimes  in  the 
evenings,  when  his  fingers  are  not  too  lame ; 
but  they  generally  are.  He  can  also  get  into 
his  satin  doublet  on  Sundays  and  great  occa 
sions,  and  look  almost  as  well  as  the  other 
chap  ;  but  he  does  so  only  on  occasions,  whereas 
the  stranger  keeps  himself  up  to  the  mark  all 
the  time.  Dulcinea  cannot  help  thinking, 


Harva  rd  Stories.  1 7  5 

therefore,  that  Gray  is  a  boor  and  a  bore,  even 
though  he  sometimes  shows  capabilites  other 
than  those  of  getting  his  head  smashed.  On 
the  other  hand,  Dulcinea's  governor  is  a  stout 
baron  of  the  old  school.  He  looks  upon  Gray 
as  a  dude  and  aper  of  foreign  customs,  for  tak 
ing  a  bath  after  a  hard  day  in  the  lists  and  leav 
ing  off  his  breastplate  at  dinner.  The  old  man's 
chief  boast  is  that  with  his  own  good  sword 
he  has  carved  out  all  his  fat  lands  and  broad 
baronies,  and  he  asks,  as  he  proudly  thumps 
his  chest,  how  he  could  ever  have  done  all  that 
if  he  had  put  on  effeminate  airs  and  fooled  away 
ten  minutes  every  week  in  a  bath-tub.  Now  I 
ask  you  to  drop  your  poetry  for  a  minute,  sub 
stitute  reason  for  imagination,  and  confess  that 
this  is  really  what  a  young  knight  had  to  take. 
Dixi,  let  's  hear  what  you  have  got  to  say." 

"  Just  this,"  answered  Gray,  "  that  your  Dul- 
cinea  is  a  fool.  Any  true  woman  would  appre 
ciate  a  man's  best  efforts,  even  if  unsuccessful. 
I  claim  that  such  Dulcineas  are  the  exception 
and  not  the  rule.  Point  two.  Your  young 
knight  is  also  a  fool  if  he  allows  himself  to 
become  nothing  but  a  mere  bruiser  and  cut 
throat.  He  ought  not  to  forget  that  he  is  a 


i  76  Harvard  Stories. 

gentleman  as  well  as  a  fighting  man.  He  can 
pay  some  attention  to  the  graces  of  life  and 
fight  none  the  worse  for  it.  You  say  he  knows 
the  old  songs, — those  are  the  best  always — and 
he  can  pick  up  the  new  ones  in  spare  moments. 
It  makes  no  difference  how  he  dresses,  so  long 
as  he  has  a  good  excuse  for  dressing  badly,  and 
does  n't  forget  how  to  dress  well.  As  for  your 
point  about  his  personal  appearace,  that  does 
n't  amount  to  a  row  of  pins.  It  certainly  can't 
trouble  him,  and  it  would  n't  trouble  Dulcinea 
if  she  had  any  sense.  I  don't  believe  any 
woman  objects  to  honorable  scars  in  a  man." 

"  Every  woman  does  n't  throw  poetry  around 
them  as  you  do.  Honorable  scars  received  in 
commonplace  everyday  scrapping  don't  count." 

"  This  has  not  been  a  fair  fight,"  declared 
Holworthy.  "  I  can  see  through  this  man 
Stoughton,  now,  and  understand  it  all.  He  has 
prepared  all  this  harangue,  and  is  trying  to  pass 
it  off  here  as  impromptu.  Now,  I  am  going 
to  give  him  away.  I  was  with  him  the  other 
evening  at  a  dinner.  There  was  a  girl  there 
who  had  been  abroad  for  the  first  time.  She 
had  spent  the  last  season  in  London,  for  the 
expenses  of  which  her  governor  probably  had 


Harvard  Stories.  177 

to  do  double  work  at  home.  She  had  quite 
naturally,  fallen  completely  in  love  with  all  those 
great  big,  splendid-looking  chaps  who  float  about 
London  in  long  coats  all  day  during  the  season. 
A  handsome  leisure  class.  Some  of  the  biggest 
and  best  dressed  of  them,  by-the-way,  are  quite 
apt  to  be  her  own  humdrum  countrymen  on  a 
vacation,  but  she  had  n't  found  that  out  yet, 
and  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  present  dis 
cussion,  anyway.  I  heard  her  remark  to  Dick 
during  dinner  that  Englishmen  were  so  much 
better  looking  and  more  agreeable  than  Ameri 
can  men.  That  is  an  undeniable  fact,  in  daily 
life,  but  Dick  was  fool  enough  to  get  a  little  mad 
over  the  observation.  He  could  n't  think  of 
any  brilliant  repartee  at  the  time,  but  came 
home  and  slept  over  it.  Next  time  he  meets 
that  girl,  or  one  like  her,  he  will  be  loaded  for 
bear,  but  he  wants  to  rehearse  a  little,  first,  so  he 
has  brought  his  mediaeval  metaphor  here  to  try 
it  on  the  dog.  He  knew  that  our  hair-trigger 
poet,  with  a  little  joggling,  would  be  morally 
certain  to  shoot  off  something  about  love  and 
lances ;  that  was  just  the  opening  he  wanted. 
Keep  it  for  your  next  dinner-party,  Dick.  It 
does  n't  mean  anything  but  it  may  make  you 


1 78  Harvard  Stories. 

feel  clever  and  entertaining.  I  hold  that  Brother 
Gray  has  thrown  you  and  your  Dulcinea  down 
hard." 

"It  is  perfectly  true  to  life,  anyway,"  said 
Dick,  with  a  conscious  grin  ;  "  but  you  are  wrong 
in  accusing  me  of  worrying  about  it.  I  don't 
mind  the  prospect  in  the  least,  as  I  said  before, 
and  am  only  warning  you  snobs  who  think  you 
are  something  pretty  nice.  You  can't  carry 
your  poetry  out  of  college.  Your  '  graces  of 
life  '  as  you  call  'em,  either  mental  or  physical, 
won't  raise  your  salary  in  an  office,  and  your 
hard  work  in  the  office  won't  help  you  to  figure 
in  a  ballroom.  If  you  get  to  the  top  before 
you  are  thirty,  Dulcinea  may  smile  on  you  ;  but 
you  are  not  likely  to  do  anything  of  the  kind. 
You  will  probably  spoil  all  your  other  chances 
with  her  in  the  attempt." 

"  Listen  to  our  man  of  the  world,  you  fel 
lows,"  said  Burleigh.  "  Jack  Rattleton,  stop 
playing  with  that  ugly  pup  and  improve  your 
advantages.  Uncle  Richard,  here,  aged  two 
and  twenty,  has  upon  half  a  dozen  occasions 
made  the  exertion  of  going  to  a  party  in  Bos 
ton,  where  he  has  talked  foot-ball  with  some 
debutante 'and  been  floored  on  Esoteric  Buddhism 
by  an  elderly  lady  who  had  it.  He  has  spent 


Harvard  Stories.  1 79 

all  the  rest  of  his  time  smoking  a  villanous  pipe 
in  Cambridge.  He  is  now  giving  us,  from  his 
wealth  of  experience,  a  few  opinions  and  straight 
tips  on  the  nature  of  woman." 
•  "  I  don't  pretend  to  know  anything  about 
'em,"  protested  Dick,  stoutly,  "  and  care  less. 
But  this  I  do  know,  that,  among  most  men,  suc 
cess  counts  for  more  than  endeavor,  and  I  am 
willing  to  bet  that  it  is  four  times  as  much  so 
with  women." 

"And  I  know  this,"  said  Hudson,  "  that  you, 
on  your  own  confession,  don't  know  what  you 
are  talking  about,  and  are  in  a  beastly  humor. 
You  need  exercise  ;  come  on  over  to  Fresh  Pond 
and  go  skating." 

"  Yes,  do  take  him  off,"  sighed  Rattleton  ; 
"  when  he  and  Hoi  and  Gray  get  theorizing  it 
gives  everybody  a  headache.  They  '11  go  around 
to  the  Pud.  and  keep  it  up  there  if  you  don't 
take  them  skating." 

Stoughton  replied  to  this  by  kicking  the  hind 
legs  of  Rattleton's  carefully  balanced  chair,  and 
upsetting  him  on  top  of  the  dog  Blathers.  After 
which  exchange  of  courtesies  the  party 
adjourned,  arranging  to  meet  and  go  to  Fresh 
Pond  at  three. 

Holworthy  did  not  join  the  skating  party  ;  he 


180  Harvard  Stories. 

had  promised  to  go  for  a  walk  with  his  chum 
Rivers.  Gray  also  had  some  engagement.  As 
the  others  were  starting  out  with  their  skates, 
they  met  the  latter  little  gentleman  arrayed  in 
his  best.  He  tried  to  pretend  that  he  did  n't 
see  them.  They  promptly  set  up  a  cheer  and 
began  ostentatiously  making  snow-balls. 

"  Did  n't  you  say  something  at  lunch  about 
men  in  New  York  who  made  impertinent  re 
marks  about  your  clothes,"  demanded  Gray  of 
Stoughton. 

"  This  is  n't  New  York,"  answered  Stough 
ton.  "  When  a  man  puts  on  all  his  feathers 
and  paint  on  a  week  day  in  Cambridge,  we 
know  he  is  on  the  war-path." 

"  Dog  his  trail,  dog  his  trail,"  yelled  Hudson. 
"Let  's  see  what  wigwam  it  leads  to." 

"Does  n't  he  look  pretty?"  shouted  Bur- 
leigh.  "  Only  his  coat  does  n't  fit  in  the  back." 

"  Look  at  that  smooch  on  his  collar,"  ex 
claimed  Randolph. 

"  I  hope  you  children  will  grow  up  some 
time,"  grumbled  Gray,  as  he  hurried  on. 

An  hour  or  two  afterwards  Gray  was  walking 
into  Boston  in  very  good  company.  The  new 
Harvard  Bridge  was  not  then  built,  and  the 


Harvard  Stories.  181 

two  (yes,  only  one  other)  were  passing  through 
one  of  the  more  lonely  streets  of  Cambridge- 
port  that  lead  to  the  Cottage  Farms  bridge. 
A  hard-looking  citizen  turned  a  corner  ahead 
of  them,  and  on  catching  sight  of  the  pair 
stopped  with  some  insulting  remark.  Gray's 
blood  boiled  into  his  face,  but  he  had  sense 
enough  to  cross  to  the  other  side  of  the  street 
with  his  convoy.  The  man,  evidently  in  liquor, 
promptly  did  the  same,  and  showed  that  he 
meant  to  give  trouble. 

"  Run  back  as  fast  as  you  can  to  Main  Street," 
said  Gray  to  his  companion,  upon  which  advice 
she  wisely  and  quickly  acted. 

The  rough  started  forward,  and  Gray  placed 
himself  in  the  middle  of  the  path. 

"  Hold  on,"  he  commanded.  "  Don't  come 
a  step  nearer." 

"  Get  out  of  my  way,  you  little  dude,  before 
I  eat  you  up,"  answered  the  other. 

The  little  dude  naturally  did  not  get  out  of 
the  way.  He  dropped  his  stick  and  squared 
himself  for  the  enemy.  Then,  contrary  to  the 
generally  accepted  pleasant  idea,  the  burly 
ruffian  proceeded  to  "eat  up"  the  slender 
thoroughbred. 


1 82  Harvard  Stories. 

The  light-weight  met  his  adversary's  rush 
handsomely,  but  utterly  failed  to  stop  it. 
The  tough  closed,  "  back-heeling,"  and  at  the 
same  time  landing  his  right  with  a  door  key 
in  it,  used  as  brass  knuckles,  thereby  cutting 
Gray's  face  open.  As  the  latter  tripped  and 
went  down  under  the  blow,  the  tough  kicked 
him.  Gray  jumped  to  his  feet  again,  how 
ever,  and  managed  to  fasten  on  the  rough's 
back  as  he  went  by.  They  went  down  together, 
the  rough  on  top  with  his  knee  on  Gray's 
stomach.  This  knocked  the  wind  out  of  the 
little  fellow  terribly,  still  he  clung  to  his  adver 
sary.  The  latter  struggled  to  free  one  of  his 
hands,  with  the  amiable  purpose  of  choking,  or 
of  gouging  the  eye  of  the  youth  under  him, 
when  a  shout  made  him  look  up.  He  managed 
to  tear  himself  away,  and  sprang  to  his  feet. 
Holworthy  and  his  chum,  Charles  Rivers,  who 
was  No.  4  in  the  'Varsity  crew,  were  tearing 
down  the  street. 

The  second  battle  was  quite  as  unequal  as 
the  first,  for  there  was  as  much  difference 
between  the  big  college  oarsman  in  the  pink 
of  condition,  and  the  rum-soaked  Port  tough, 
as  there  had  been  between  the  latter  and  the 


Harvard  Stories.  183 

plucky  little  stripling.  It  is  only  justice  to  the 
tough,  however,  to  say  that  no  idea  of  flight 
entered  his  mind  ;  he  was  quite  as  ready  to  fight 
the  big  dude  as  the  little  one. 

His  hand  went  to  his  hip-pocket,  but  evi 
dently  the  weapon  was  not  there.  Then  he 
gathered  himself  and  made  a  spring  at  the  new 
comer.  As  a  result  he  ran  his  face  into  a  big 
fist  at  the  end  of  a  long,  straight,  stiffened  left- 
arm.  At  the  other  end  of  that  arm  were  a  hun 
dred  and  ninety  pounds  of  hard-trained  muscle. 
As  he  staggered  back  from  this  concussion,  he 
got  the  hundred  and  ninety  pounds  again,  con 
centrated  in  a  right  hander  on  his  fifth  rib. 
That  doubled  him  up,  and  then  it  was  River's 
turn  to  rush.  He  knew  enough  not  to  close, 
for  the  brute,  though  practically  knocked  out, 
could  still  use  his  teeth  if  he  got  a  chance.  Hold 
ing  him  up  by  the  throat  with  his  left  hand,  with 
his  right  Rivers  pounded  the  ruffian  on  the  jaw, 
then  threw  him  senseless  on  the  ground. 

"  There,  that  will  do.  He  '11  come  to  after 
awhile,"  he  remarked,  "  but  he  will  do  no  more 
mischief  at  present.  You  chivalrous  little  jack 
ass,"  he  continued,  turning  to  Gray,  who  was 
wiping  the  blood  from  his  face,  "  I  saw  you 


1 84  Harvard  Stories. 

throw  away  your  stick  when  we  first  caught 
sight  of  you.  It  's  lucky  you  were  n't  killed. 
Of  course  you  could  n't  help  fighting  under 
these  circumstances,  but  if  you  ever  get  caught 
with  a  beast  like  that  again,  don't  ever  try  fair 
prize-ring  methods  with  him.  It  is  only  in  books 
that  the  nice  young  man  thrashes  two  or  three 
toughs  bigger  than  himself  in  a  square  fight. 
These  chaps  know  how  to  fight  just  as  well  as 
you  ;  what  is  more,  they  know  how  to  fight 
foul,  and  always  do  if  they  get  a  chance.  Just 
remember,  now,  if  you  ever  have  to  tackle  this 
kind  of  cattle  again,  cut  him  right  over  with 
your  stick.  Paste  him  under  the  ear  for 
keeps." 

"  If  this  is  n't  just  my  luck  !  "  said  Gray, 
looking  ruefully  at  the  blood  on  his  handker 
chief.  "  Here  have  I  been  longing  and  praying 
for  this  sort  of  an  opportunity,  and  when  it 
comes,  by  Jove,  I  get  a  thundering  licking  and 
another  fellow  comes  along  and  saves  me  and 
the  girl  both.  Hang  it,  Charlie,  I  could  have 
held  on  to  him  until  she  got  away." 

"  Too  bad,"  laughed  Rivers,  "  I  beg  your 
pardon.  I  did  n't  think.  I  ought  to  have  let 
you  get  killed  or  gouged  for  her  and  glory, 


Harvard  Stories.  185 

ought  n't  I  ?  Come,  cheer  up,  old  man,  you  did 
a  great  deal  more  than  I,  and  deserve  all  the 
favors.  Let  's  go  back  and  see  her." 

They  walked  back  to  Holworthy  and  the  fair 
casus  belli.  The  latter  had  paused  in  her  flight 
on  the  arrival  of  the  reinforcements,  and  with 
natural  curiosity  and  anxiety  had  watched  the 
fray  from  a  distance.  As  her  rescued  rescuer 
and  his  rescuer  came  up,  she  held  out  her  hand 
to  Rivers,  and  uttered  her  gratitude  in  nervous 
broken  sentences. 

She  expressed  much  sympathy  for  Gray. 


SERIOUS  SITUATIONS  IN  BURLEIGH'S 
ROOM.* 

SCENE  : — Room   of  Hudson,    Burl«igh,    and  Co.  (Co.  being 

Topsy,  the  terrier). 

Burleigh  seated  in  easy  chair,  legs  stretched  towards  fire, 
back  to  table,  dog  in  lap,  reading  and  smoking  long  pipe. 

Hudson  [from  his  bedroom].     Oh,  Ned  ! 
Burleigh.     Hullo? 

Hud.  Are  n't  you  going  to  the  Assembly 
to-night  ? 

[Enter  Huason  from  bedroom  putting  on  evening  coatl\ 

Burl,  [without  looking  up].  Did  you  ever 
know  me  to  go  to  more  than  one  Harvard 
Assembly?  Don't  ask  foolish  questions. 

Hud.  Well,  don't  you  be  such  a  lazy  lum 
mox.  [Going  to  loo  king-glass  J]  Really,  Ned, 
you  ought  to  go  out  more  among  decent 
people. 

Burl.     Yes.     I  have  such  a  good  time  when 

*  This  farce  is  printed  by  the  kind  permission  of  the  Hasty 
Pudding  Club  for  which  it  was  originally  written. 
1 86 


Harvard  Stories.  187 

I  do.  At  the  last  and  only  party  in  Boston  to 
which  I  ever  went,  I  knew  just  one  girl,  and 
spilled  ice-cream  on  her  dress.  After  holding 
up  the  wall  for  an  hour  and  a  half,  and  finding 
it  impossible  to  get  you  or  any  one  else  to  come 
back  to  Cambridge  with  me,  I  started  home 
alone  in  Riley's  cab.  Mr.  Riley  felt  in  a  sport 
ing  mood  as  usual,  and  insisted  on  racing  an 
electric  car.  We  broke  down  at  Central  Square. 
It  was  snowing  hard  and  the  walk  home  in 
patent  leathers  was  lovely.  When  I  got  home, 
of  course,  I  found  that  my  keys  were  chained 
to  my  other  trousers,  and  I  busted  the  bags  I 
had  on  in  climbing  through  the  ventilator  over 
the  door.  I  dropped  on  the  rocking-chair  and 
the  pup  both  at  once,  and  then  found  there  was 
nothing  to  drink  in  the  book-case.  Oh,  I 
enjoyed  the  last  Assembly  thoroughly.  I  think 
it  would  be  fun  to  go  again.  Ugh  ! 

Hud.  Very  few  ever  go  to  a  party  for 
pleasure,  my  dear  boy.  It  is  a  duty  that  you 
owe  to  yourself.  If  you  never  go  to  balls,  you 
will  never  know  how  to  behave  in  a  ballroom. 
When  you  have  learned  to  do  that,  why  then 
you  need  n't  go  to  balls. 

Burl.     That  is  logical. 


1 88  Harvard  Stories. 

Hud.     It  is  also  a  duty  that  you  owe  society. 

Burl.  Society  can  have  my  share  of  the 
supper,  and  call  it  square. 

Hud.  Well,  now  look  here,  Ned,  I  want  you 
to  go  in  to  the  Assembly  to-night  for  a  partic 
ular  reason,  besides  your  own  civilization. 

Burl.     I  won't  go.     What  is  your  reason  ? 

Hud.  My  mother  and  sister  have  come  on 
to  Boston  and  are  going  to  be  at  the  ball  to 
night,  and  I  want  you  to  meet  them. 

Burl.  Why  did  n't  you  say  that  in  the  first 
place  ?  But,  Steve,  are  n't  you  going  to  have 
them  out  here  pretty  soon  ?  I  can  meet  them 
then. 

Hud.  [emphatically].  No,  sir.  Not  if  I  know 
it,  until  I  can  be  sure  of  keeping  out  all  the 
duns  and  sporting  gentry  who  are  apt  to  call 
unexpectedly.  Numerous  acquaintances,  whom 
I  do  not  care  to  have  my  good  mother  meet, 
might  drop  in  to  a  little  five  o'clock  tea.  I 
shall  probably  get  my  quarter's  allowance 
before  long,  and  then  I  can  chain  up  the  Furies 
for  a  while,  and  have  my  family  out  here  with 
an  easy  mind.  That  bull  mick  Shreedy  is 
gunning  for  me  just  at  present,  and  if  my 
mother  knew  I  owed  money  to  a  prize-fighter 
she  would  never  get  over  it. 


Harvard  Stories.  1 89 

Burl.  Well,  won't  it  do  if  I  go  in  to-morrow 
and  call? 

Hud.  No,  I  promised  them  that  you  would 
be  there  to-night,  and  they  will  be  awfully  dis 
appointed  if  you  're  not.  They  are  naturally 
anxious  to  know  my  chum  as  soon  as  possible. 

Burl.  Then  they  will  be  awfully  disap 
pointed  if  I  am  there.  You  know  perfectly 
well,  when  I  talk  to  a  girl  at  a  party,  what  a 
painful  ordeal  it  is  for  both  of  us.  You  ought 
not  to  spring  me  on  your  sister  under  such  con 
ditions.  It  's  unfair  to  me  and  a  poor  joke  on 
her. 

Hud.  Oh,  don't  be  such  a  bashful  ass.  You 
can  do  well  enough  if  you  try.  My  sister  knows 
that  you  hate  parties,  and  will  appreciate  your 
coming.  Now,  do  promise  me,  there  is  a  good 
fellow. 

Burl.  Well,  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to.  But, 
Steve,  I  have  n't  time  to  dress  for  this  thing 
to-night. 

Hud.  Nonsense.  You  have  plenty  of  time 
to  dress.  How  long  does  that  operation  gener 
ally  take  you  ? 

Burl.  Three  quarters  of  an  hour  to  dress, 
and  an  hour  and  three  quarters  to  tie  my  cravat. 
I  think  I  shall  have  to  get  one  of  those  nice 


1 90  Harvard  Stories. 

store  cravats  that  come  all  tied,  and  strap  on 
with  a  buckle. 

Hud.  Yes,  get  a  pretty  satin  one  with  pink 
rose-buds  on  it.  Oh,  I  should  n't  be  surprised 
to  see  you  turn  up  in  anything.  [  Putting  on 
hat  and  over  coat  I\  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Ned, 
if  you  continue  to  shun  all  feminine  society 
you  will  soon  become  an  unmitigated  boor. 

Burl.  I  am  at  college,  thanks,  and  prefer  it. 
I  shall  have  plenty  of  time  to  take  up  feminine 
society,  as  you  call  it,  after  I  graduate. 

Hud.  You  will  be  a  cub,  and  society  won't 
take^^w  up.  Now,  old  man,  it  is  awfully  good 
of  you  to  come  in  on  my  account  to-night,  so 
don't  back  out, — and  make  yourself  look  as 
much  like  a  gentleman  as  you  can.  Come  in  as 
early  as  possible.  \Exit  Hudson^] 

Burl.  [sol.  ].  Why  the  deuce  does  a  fellow 
want  to  go  chasing  into  Boston,  when  he  has 
only  four  years  of  this  sort  of  thing.  Steve 
does  not  half  appreciate  college.  However,  I 
suppose  if  his  family  \Takingphotographfrom 
table]  is  going  to  be  there,  I  ought  to  go  in. 
It  is  only  decent.  [  To  photograph.']  So,  Miss 
Hudson,  you  and  I  are  going  to  meet,  eh  ?  Oh, 
what  a  fool  you  will  think  me !  Now,  if  I  could 


Harvard  Stories.  1 9 1 

only  look  at  you  without  trying  to  talk.  Steve 
is  right,  though ;  I  ought  to  cure  myself  of  this 
fool  shyness  and  awkwardness  before  the  other 
sex,  or  I  deserve  to  be  called  an  ill-bred  cub. 

[Knock  at   kail  door.\ 
Come  in  !  [  Puts  down  photograph  hastily^} 

[Enter  Jack  Randolph  in  long  coat  and  rubber  boots.} 

Randolph.  Hullo,  Ned  !  Did  I  leave  my 
umbrella  in  here  the  other  day  ? 

Burl.  It  is  a  pretty  good  one,  is  n't  it?  No, 
I  guess  I  have  n't  seen  it. 

Rand,  [taking  a  cross-handled  umbrella  from 
beside  fireplace}.  Lucky  you  have  n't. 

Burl.  Oh,  while  I  think  of  it,  here  is  that  X 
I  owe  you  [pulling  bill  out  of  pocket}. 

Rand.  Good  man  !  Marvellous  memory  ! 
Remembered  the  wrong  end  of  a  debt.  I  am 
glad  you  did,  for  I  am  devilish  hard  up  just  at 
present.  [  Taking  cigar  from  mantel-piece."} 

Burl.  So  is  everybody  at  this  time  of  year. 
This  is  a  great  sacrifice  on  my  part. 

Rand.  Don't  give  it  to  me  now.  Keep  it 
until  to-morrow,  won't  you  ?  [Lights  cigar •.] 

Burl.     Better  take  it  while  you  can  get  it.    I 


1 92  Harvard  Stories. 

shall  have  spent  it  next  time  we  meet.  Why 
don't  you  want  it  now? 

Rand.  Well,  I  will  take  it,  just  to  relieve 
you.  I  have  n't  anything  on  but  this  ulster, 
which  is  not  a  good  thing  to  put  money  in. 
You  see,  I  am  going  round  to  a  dress  rehearsal 
at  the  Pudding. 

Burl.  Oh,  that  is  why  you  are  all  bundled 
up  on  this  clear  night.  Let  us  see  your  dress. 

Rand.  No,  you  will  see  it  soon  enough  at  the 
show  to-morrow  night.  Where  is  Steve  ? 

Burl.  Gone  in  town  to  trip  in  the  mazy. 

Rand.  The  habitual  dude !  Oh,  of  course, 
the  first  Harvard  Assembly  comes  off  to-night. 
If  it  was  not  for  this  rehearsal  I  would  go  in 
and  do  the  butterfly  myself.  What  would  hire 
you  to  go  there,  Charlie  ? 

Burl.  Give  me  back  that  ten  dollars  and  I 
will  go. 

Rand.  I  don't  believe  you  would  ;  but  I  'd 
give  you  the  ten  dollars  if  I  could  be  there  to 
see  you. 

Burl.  Well,  if  it  will  please  you  to  know  it, 
I  am  going  in. 

Rand.  What !  You  going  to  a  party  !  What 
has  happened  ? 


Harvard  Stories.  193 

Burl,  [with  dignity'}.  Nothing.  It  is  a  duty 
that  I  owe  to  myself  and  society.  If  a  man 
never  goes  to  balls  he  will  never  know  how  to 
behave  in  a  ballroom. 

Rand,  [with  derisive  laughter}.  That  is 
pretty  good  from  you.  Steve  has  evidently 
been  giving  you  a  lecture.  Come  now,  Ned, 
choke  that  off  and  tell  me  honestly  what  is  up. 

Burl.  Nothing,  I  tell  you.  If  a  man  shuns 
all  polite  society,  he  will  become  an  unmiti 
gated  boor. 

Rand.  If  you  don't  drop  that  second-hand 
stuff  of  Hudson's,  and  tell  me  who  the  girl  is, 
by  Jove,  I  '11  tell  every  man  in  college  about  it, 
and  it  shall  be  a  very  amusing  story  before  I 
get  through  with  it,  I  promise  you. 

Burl.  Well,  you  see — er — Steve's  mother  is 
going  to  be  there  and  he  wants  me  to  meet  her. 

Rand.  Oho  !  That  is  it,  is  it  ?  Steve's  mother 
is  going  to  be  there.  Ha-ha-ha,  that  is  pretty 
weak,  old  fox.  I  suppose,  of  course,  there  is 
no  chance  of  Miss  Hudson  being  there  too. 
Well,  if  she  is  half  as  pretty  as  her  photograph, 
I  don't  blame  you  for  going  in.  Egad,  though, 
Ned,  I  would  like  to  see  you  talking  to  her. 

Burl.     I  have  no  doubt  you  would,  sweet 


1 94  Harvard  Stories. 

me  child,  but  you  won't.  That  is  just  where 
the  best  point  of  this  funny  joke  comes  in. 
While  I  am  talking  to  Miss  Hudson,  you  will 
be  out  here,  at  the  rehearsal,  getting  sworn  at. 
"  Go  over  that  chorus  again."  "  Randolph, 
you  're  out  of  step." 

Rand.  Damn  the  rehearsal.  Never  mind, 
Miss  Hudson  will  probably  be  on  here  for  some 
time,  and  I  shall  get  another  chance  of  meeting 
her.  When  I  do,  I  will  make  a  particular  point 
of  cutting  you  out.  You  won't  be  in  it,  even 
if  you  are  her  brother's  chum. 

BurL  [getting  up}.  You  are  talking  too 
much.  Come  now,  run  along.  I  have  got  to 
dress. 

Rand.  I  wish  I  had  time  to  watch  you  do 
it.  I  don't  believe  you  have  put  on  a  claw 
hammer  coat  since  you  've  been  up  here,  except 
for  club  dinners. 

Burl.  Oh,  go  round  to  your  rehearsal.  You 
will  be  late. 

Rand,  [going  to  hall  door}.  If  it  does  n't 
begin  on  time,  I  '11  come  back  here  and  help 
you  untangle  your  neck-tie.  Don't  make  your 
self  too  pretty.  Leave  me  some  chance  with 
Miss  H.  Exit 


Harvard  Stories.  195 

Burl.     Jack  is  too  fresh  to-night.  Come,  pup. 
{Picks  up  Topsy  and  exits  into  bedroom.^  - 


a  certain  Prof.  Shreedy  (unattached  to  the 
University)  He  softly  closes  door  after  him,  and 
knocks  on  inside~\. 

Burl,  [from  bedroom].     Come  in. 

Shreedy  {aside'}.  I  will.  [Calls']  Is  Mr.  Hud 
son  in,  I  dunno  ? 

Burl,  {putting  his  head  out  of  his  bedroom}. 
Hullo,  is  that  you,  Shreedy  ?  No,  Mr.  Hudson 
is  not  in,  and  he  won't  take  any  sparring  lesson 
to-night  any  way. 

Shreedy.  Well,  I  just  come  to  see  him  about 
a  little  matter  of  business,  see  ?  Maybe  you 
might  - 

Burl.  No  I  might  n't.  There  is  not  a  dollar 
in  the  firm,  Shreedy,  anywhere.  Hudson  has 
gone  in  town.  I  can't  give  you  a  cent,  and  if 
you  don't  get  out  of  here  pretty  quickly,  I  may 
have  to  borrow  a  car  fare  from  you.  Call  again 
next  week.  Good  evening,  and  get  out.  {Slams 
doorJ} 

Shr.  Ain't  he  getting  pretty  flip  ?  The 
lippy  dude  !  Maybe  he  thinks  he  can  put  me 
off  that  way.  Hudson  gone  in  town,  ah,  rats  ! 


196  Harvard  Stories. 

What  an  old  gag.  I  '11  wait  round  awhile,  'cause 
I  got  to  have  that  money  to-night.  I  '11  lay  for 
him  in  this  other  room,  that 's  what  I  '11  do,  and 
nab  him  when  he  comes  in.  {Helps  himself  to 
two  or  three  cigars  and  goes  into  Hudson  s  bed 
room^ 

[A  so  ft  knock  on  door,  then  enter  Mrs.  and  Miss  Hud 
son^ 

Mrs.  Hudson.  Well,  this  is  strange,  I  should 
think  Steve  would  have  taken  more  care  to 
meet  us  here. 

Miss  Hudson.  Perhaps  he  has  just  gone  out 
for  a  minute. 

Mrs.  H.  He  ought  to  have  been  on  the  look 
out  for  the  carriage,  and  not  compelled  us  to 
come  up  here  after  waiting  twenty  minutes  at 
the  door. 

Miss.  H.  He  may  not  have  received  your 
telegram. 

Mrs.  H.  And  has  gone  in  town  to  meet  us 
there  ?  Good  gracious !  I  hope  not.  Well, 
we  will  wait  a  little  while  and  see.  But  it  is 
rather  awkward  for  two  ladies  to  be  visiting  a 
college  room  in  the  evening  in  this  way,  even 
if  I  am  the  mother  of  the  occupant. 


Harvard  Stories.  1 9  7 

Miss  H.  I  think  it  is  lots  of  fun.  What  a 
jolly  room  he  has.  I  wish  I  were  a  boy. 

Mrs.  H.  Under  the  present  circumstances, 
my  dear,  I  wish  so  too.  He  has  arranged  his 
room  pretty  well  for  a  man. 

Miss  H.  Now,  let  us  look  at  all  his  things. 
We  will  begin  with  the  mantel-piece. 

{They  both  turn  toward  mantel,  backs  to 
roomJ] 

[Enter  Burleigh  from  his  bedroom  in  evening  trousers, 
no  coat  or  waistcoat,  and  four  or  five  white  cravats 
in  his  hand.  Without  seeing  the  visitors,  he  crosses 
the  room  to  the  looking-glass,  which  hangs  on  the 
wall  opposite  the  fireplace,  where  the  visitors  are 
standing^ 

Burl,  [to  himself}.  Now  for  the  great  agony. 
Oh,  life  is  very  short  for  this  sort  of  thing.  If 
Steve's  family  could  only  see  me  tying  my 
cravat,  they  would  realize  what  devotion — 
[Suddenly  sees  women  in  the  glass  and  starts.] 
Good  Lord  !  [  Turns  head  slowly  and  looks  at 
Mrs.  and  Miss  H.  whose  backs  are  still  turned^ 
Oh,  what  in  Heaven's  name  shall  I  do  ?  I  can't 
get  back  to  my  room.  Ha  !  the  screen  !  [Dives 
behind  a  tall  screen  near  the  glass, ,] 


1 98  Harvard  Stories. 

Miss  H.  Look  at  all  these  pipes  !  And  what 
a  horrid  smell  of  tobacco  ! 

Mrs.  H.  I  see  that  Steve's  chum,  Mr.  Bur- 
leigh,  smokes. 

Burl,  [aside  over  screen'}.  And  Jack  Randolph 
just  made  the  horrid  smell  with  one  of  Steve's 
weeds. 

Miss  H.  [finding  on  the  mantel-piece  a  cham 
pagne  bottle  marked  "  cetat  21  "].  Oh,  look  at 
this! 

Burl,  [aside  over  screen'].  Now  she  has  got 
hold  of  the  memento  of  Steve's  birthday. 
What  next  ? 

Mrs.  H.  [putting  on  glasses  and  taking  bot 
tle'}.  Hm !  I  suppose  that  Mr.  Burleigh  also 
drinks.  I  hope  my  son  does  all  in  his  power  to 
restrain  his  comrade. 

Miss  H.  I  am  so  glad  we  are  going  to  see 
the  great  Ned  Burleigh  at  last.  Steve  says  he 
is  so  interesting — such  a  funny  old  bird. 

Burl,  {aside'}.     Damn  him  ! 

Mrs.  H.  I  wonder  where  they  are.  One  of 
them  must  be  around,  for  they  would  not  both 
go  away,  and  leave  their  light  burning.  We 
cannot  wait  much  longer. 


Harvard  Stories.  199 

[Enter  Hudson,  hurriedly.^ 

Hud.  Forgot  my  gloves,  of  course,  and  had 
to  come  back.  Hullo,  mother  !  why,  how  did 
you  two  get  here  ? 

Mrs.  H.     Did  n't  you  get  my  telegram  ? 

Hud.  Telegram  ?  No,  I  suppose  the  boy 
will  leave  it,  on  his  way  to  breakfast,  in  the 
morning. 

Mrs.  H.  We  had  to  come  out  to  Cambridge 
to  a  dinner  at  Prof.  Fullaloves,  and  thought  we 
would  stop  on  the  way  back  with  the  carriage, 
and  take  you  boys  into  the  Assembly.  I  tele 
graphed  you  this  afternoon. 

Hud.  Well,  it  is  lucky  I  came  back.  Have 
you  been  here  long  ?  Have  you  seen  Ned 
Burleigh  ? 

Miss  H.     Your  chum  ?     No. 

Hud.  That  is  good.  He  must  have  started 
in.  If  you  had  dropped  in  on  Ned  all  alone 
here,  he  would  have  had  twenty  Dutch  fits. 

Miss  H.  Now,  Steve,  before  we  go,  you 
must  show  us  all  your  things.  {Picking  up 
photographs  from  mantel-piece}  Why,  who  are 
these  ? 

Hud.  Those,  er — oh — ah — those — yes.  Those 


2OO  Harvard  Stories. 

are  some  of  my  chum's  relations.  [Aside]  Ned 
will  forgive  me  for  the  emergency. 

Burl,  {aside  over  screen}.     Well,  I  '11  be 

Mrs.  H.    I  thought  those  were  not  yours,  dear. 

Miss  H.  They  are  all  in  costume,  are  n't 
they. 

Hud.  Yes,  yes,  private  theatricals,  you  know. 
The  Burleighs  are  all  great  on  private  theatricals. 

[Enter  Prof.  Shreedy  from  Hudson's  bedroom.] 

Shr.  [aside'].     Begob,  I  have  him  now. 

[Aside  to  HudJ]     Mr.  Hudson  ! 

Hud.  [turning].  What!  The  devil !  Shreedy ! 
What  do  you  want  here?  [Takes  him  down  to 
frontJ] 

Shr.  A  little  matter  of  business.  Look  here, 
cully,  I  want  dat  ten  dollars  you  owe  me  for 
sparrin',  dat  's  what  I  want.  Better  let  me  have 
it  and  not  make  a  fuss  before  de  ladies,  see? 

Burl,  [aside,  over  screen^.  Hurray,  bind  on 
Steve.  Serves  him  right. 

Hud.  I  have  n't  ten  dollars,  Shreedy.  I 
have  n't  a  cent.  Now,  do  clear  out,  and  I  '11  see 
you  some  other  time  about  it. 

Shr.     Naw,  some  other  time  won't  do. 

Hud.     I    can't  talk   to   you  now  before  my 


Harvard  Stories.  201 

family.  It  is  bad  enough  to  have  them  see  you 
round  here  at  all. 

Shr.  Dat  's  all  right.  Tell  'em  I  'm  your 
chum.  Just  watch  me  do  the  nobby.  {Smirks 
and  waves  his  hat  at  ladies  J] 

Hud.  [aside].     Oh,  this  is  awful! 

Mrs.  H.     Stephen,  who  is  this  person  ? 

Hud.  [aside'].  There  is  no  other  way  out 
of  it.  I  can  explain  later  \_aloud.~]  This, 
mother,  is  my  dear  old  chum,  Edward  Bur- 
leigh. 

Burl,  [aside  over  screen'].     By  gad  ! 

Mrs.  H.  Ah,  indeed,  I  am  delighted  to  meet 
you,  sir.  I  feel  that  we  are  old  friends,  al 
ready,  Mr.  Burleigh.  I  have  heard  so  much  of 
you. 

Shr.  Oh,  yes,  me  and  Steve  is  great  chums, 
ain't  we,  Steve,  old  boy  ?  [slaps  Hudson  on  the 
backJ]  [  To  Hitd.~]  Put  me  on  to  de  young  one. 

Miss  H.  [aside  to  Mrs.  H.~].  Oh,  Mamma,  he 
is  awful.  How  could  Steve  choose  such  a  man 
to  room  with  ! 

Mrs.  H.  Steve  always  said  he  was  awkward 
with  ladies,  you  know.  Perhaps  he  will  improve 
on  acquaintance. 

Shr.  [to  Miss  H.}.     Pleased   to    meet   you, 


202  Harvard  Stories. 

ma'am.  How  is  the  state  of  your  health? 
'T  ain't  often  we  see  such  a  daisy  out  here,  is  it 
Steve?  [To  Hud.']  Oh,  I  can  say  perlite  things 
to  a  lady.  You  need  n't  be  afraid,  I  won't  dis 
grace  yer ! 

Hud.  [aside].     How  long  will  this  last? 

Mrs.  H.  [to  Hud.'].  Well,  my  son,  I  must 
say,  your  chum  seems  hardly  the  retiring,  bash 
ful  young  man  you  have  always  represented 
him  to  be. 

Hud.  Oh,  he  is,  he  is.  That 's—  er— that  is 
just  what  is  the  matter.  His  shyness  takes  this 
form,  you  see.  He  is  really  awfully  embar 
rassed,  and — er — tries  to  pass  it  off  in  this 
way. 

Mrs.  H.     Curious  forms  of  shyness. 

Hud.  Yes,  very.  It  will  pass  off  soon,  and 
you  will  like  him  better  when  the  ice  is  broken. 

Shr.  [to  Miss  H.].  Ain't  that  a  nobby  dress 
you  got  on  ! 

Mrs.  H.  I  should  think  the  ice  was  at  least 
badly  cracked  already. 

Hud.  [aside].  I  must  get  them  out  of  here. 
[A/oud.]  Come,  do  let  us  start  for  the  Assembly. 

Mrs.  H.  Well,  dear,  we  have  an  extra  seat 
in  the  carriage,  and  if  Mr.  Burleigh  would  like 


Harvard  Stories.  203 

to  come,  we  will  wait  for  him  to  dress.  [To 
Shreedy]  Won't  you  come  with  us,  Mr.  Bur- 
leigh  ? 

Hud.  [breaking  in].  No — no — no  !  Ned 
never  cares— 

Shr.  Why,  sure.  I  'd  be  tickled  to  death. 
I  am  wid  you  easy.  Let  's  go  right  away. 

Miss  H.     Don't  you  want  to  dress  ? 

Shr.  What  will  I  dress  for  ?  Begob,  I  can 
dance  just  the  way  I  am  as  well  as  the  next  man. 
Wait  till  you  see  me  take  de  flure.  Oh,  I  'm 
a  dandy  on  me  toes  [illustrates  by  a  few  steps}. 

Hud.  [aside'].  Oh,  this  is  too  much.  I  shall 
have  to  tell  the  truth. 

\_Knock  on  doorl\ 

There  ! !     Come  in  ! 

[Enter  Randolph,  still  in  his  ulster,  with  the  umbrella 
and  smoking  the  cigar  J] 

Rand.  Well,  Ned,  how  is .  Oh,  I  beg 

pardon !  [Starts  to  back  out ;  Hudson  rushes 
across  and  seizes  him.~\ 

Hud.  Randolph !  Thank  Heaven !  Come 
here.  [Takes  him  aside. ~]  Jack,  have  you  any 
money  with  you  ?  As  you  love  me,  Jack,  let 
me  have  it. 


2O4  Harvard  Stories. 

Rand.  What  the  deuce  is  the  matter  ?  I 
have  ten  dollars  in  this  coat,  but  I  need  it. 

Hud.  Oh,  kind  Providence  has  taken  care 
of  its  own  !  Let  me  have  it,  I  tell  you.  {Ran 
dolph  gives  him  the  ten-dollar  bill.  Hudson 
rushes  to  Shreedy.~\ 

Rand.  Here  is  a  nice  position.  Is  Steve 
crazy  ? 

Hud.  [aside  to  Skr.~\.  Here,  you  damned 
blackmailer.  Here  's  your  money.  Now  get 
out,  and  don't  let  me  see  you  here  again. 

Shr.  Well,  I  should  have  enjoyed  the  party, 
but  I  need  the  money,  so  I  '11  go.  \_To  the 
others}  Ladies,  I  'm  very  sorry,  but  I  find  I 
have  a  sudden  engagement,  so  I  can't  keep 
company  wid  you  to  de  ball  to-night.  I  'm  all 
broke  up  about  it,  but  I  hope  I  '11  see  you 
again.  Be  good  to  yourselves.  Good-by. 
Good-by,  Hudson,  ta-ta. 

[Exit  Prof.  Shreedy.] 

Mrs.  H.     Why,  Steve,  what  is  the  matter  ? 

Hud.  I  will  explain  to  you  some  other  time. 
Let  me  present  Mr.  Randolph,  mother,  and  my 
sister.  Mr.  Randolph  is  one  of  my  best  friends. 
I  owe  him  a  great  deal.  Are  you  going  in  to 
the  Assembly,  Jack? 


Harvard  Stories.  205 

Rand,  [decidedly  embarrassed].  No,  I  can't. 
There  is  a  dress  rehearsal  at  the  Pud  ;  a  dress 
rehearsal,  you  know,  and  I  must  go  right  round 
to  it  now.  I  just  came  in  for  a  moment.  If 
you  will  excuse 

Hud.  Oh,  nonsense  !  Stay  a  little  while. 
Take  your  coat  off. 

Rand,    [aside  to  Hud.~]    Shut  up,  you  jackass  ! 

Miss  H.  [looking  at  Randolph's  rubber  boots']. 
Is  it  raining,  Mr.  Randolph  ? 

Rand,  [uneasily].  No,  no,  not  yet,  no,  but 
it  looks  like  rain. 

Miss  H.  Why,  the  stars  were  all  out  beauti 
fully  a  moment  ago. 

Rand.  Yes— er— they— er— the  stars  ?  [  With 
a  noble  effort]  Ah,  yes,  yes,  the  stars  were 
out,  yes.  But,  er — they — er — they  may  go  in 
again,  you  know.  [Aside]  What  rot  I  am 
talking  ! 

Hud.  Well,  it  is  not  going  to  rain  in  here, 
anyway.  Do  take  off  your  ulster  and  stay  a 
minute. 

Rand.  Really,  Steve,  I  'd  like  to,  but  that 
dress  rehearsal,  you  know. 

Hud.  Oh,  let  the  rehearsal  wait.  We  are 
going  in  town  in  a  moment,  anyway. 


206  Harvard  Stories. 

Mrs.  H.     Don't  leave  us,  Mr.  Randolph. 

Miss  H.  [at  mantel-piece~\.  Steve,  of  whom 
is  this  a  picture  ? 

Hud.  [turning}.  Why,  that  is  Jack  himself 
in  the  last  play. 

Mrs.  H.  Oh,  do  let  me  see  it.  [Goes  to  fire 
place.  Hudson,  Miss  H.,  and  Mrs.  H.  stand  at 
mantel  ^vith  backs  to  roomJ] 

Burl,  [from  over  the  screen  to  Randolph]. 
For  Heaven's  sake,  Jack,  hand  up  that  ulster! 

Rand,  [seeing  him\  What  in  the  name — 
what  are  you  doing  there  ? 

Burl,  [in  a  nervous  and  irritated  under •tone']. 
Confound  it,  man,  I  have  n't  any  clothes  on. 
Give  me  the  ulster,  quick ! 

Rand.  Hurray !  Up  a  tree,  are  you  ? 
You  '11  talk  to  her  while  I  am  at  the  rehearsal, 
will  you  ?  I  told  you  that  when  I  met  her  you 
would  n't  be  in  it. 

Burl.  Give  me  the  coat,  Jack  ;  do,  there  's 
a  good  fellow. 

Rand.     I  '11  be  hanged  if  I  will ! 

Hud.  [to  his  mother  and  sister}.  Here  is 
Ned's  room.  I  expect  it  is  a  chaos  just  at 
present.  [  They  move  to  door  of  BurleigJis  bed 
room,  backs  still  to  the  rest  of  the  roomJ] 


Harvard  Stories.  207 

Burl.  Come  round  here.  [Steps  from  behind 
the  screen,  and  pulls  Rand,  behind^ 

Rand,  [from  behind^.  All  right,  just  for  a 
minute.  You  promise  to  give  it  back.  [Burl, 
comes  out  from  behind  screen,  with  ulster  on. 
Rand's  head  appears  over  screen.} 

Burl.  I  '11  see.  [Walks  towards  others. 
Ladies  turn.'] 

Mrs.  H.     Pardon  me,  Mr.  Randolph Oh  ! 

Burl.  Allow  me  to  present  myself,  Mrs. 
Hudson 

Hud.     Ned  Burleigh  ! 

Burl.  Quite  right,  this  time.  /  am  Steve's 
chum. 

Mrs.  H.  Why,  Stephen,  I  don't  under 
stand. 

Burl,  [to  Hud.,  severely}.     I  do. 

Mrs.  H.     Will  you  explain  this  ? 

Burl.     Yes,  I  think  you  had  better. 

Hud.  [putting  on  a  bold  front\.  Well,  you 
see,  mother,  it  was  just  a  little  joke  on  Ned. 
Just  a  little  joke,  that  is  all.  [Forces  a  laugh^\ 

Miss  H.  Then  the  other  was  not  your 
chum? 

Burl.     Most  certainly  not. 

Mrs.  H.     Well,   I  don't  understand   it    yet. 


208  Harvard  Stories. 

However,  I  am  very  much  relieved  to  meet  the 
real  Mr.  Burleigh. 

Miss  H.  Mother,  I  think  we  had  better 
start  for  the  Assembly. 

Mrs.  H.     Where  is  Mr.  Randolph  ? 

Burl.     Oh,  he  has  just  gone  out. 

Miss  H.     He  must  have  left  rather  abruptly. 

Burl.  Yes,  Jack  Randolph  has  very  queer 
manners.  You  see,  he  is  awfully  bashful. 

Rand,  [to  Burl,  over  the  screen}.  Here, 
give  me  back  that  ulster. 

Burl,  [aside  to  Rand.'].  I  '11  be  hanged  if  I 
will.  Who  is  in  it  now,  eh  ? 

Hud.     Well,  let  us  be  going. 

Mrs.  H.  Will  you  come  with  us,  Mr.  Bur 
leigh  ? 

Burl.  I  will  follow  you  in  later.  I  will  go 
down  with  you  to  the  carriage. 

Hud.     Well,  come  along. 

Rand,  [over  the  screen}.  That  is  a  low 
trick.  [Reaches  for  Burl,  with  handle  of  um 
brella  three  times  ;  at  third  attempt  screen  falls 
over  and  Rand,  flat  on  top  of  it,— in  short  ballet 
dress  and  pink  tights.  His  moustache,  rubber 
boots,  and  decidedly  masculine  arms  and  legs 
make  an  excellent  effect  with  the  garb  of  a 
premiere  danseuse.  Ladies  shrickJ] 


Harvard  Stories.  209 

Mrs.  and  \ 

I    Mr.  Randolph ! 
Miss  H.   ) 

Steve.     Jack ! 

Rand,  \nervously  spreading  umbrella  in  front 
of  his  legs'}.  I — I  beg  your  pardon.  Please 
excuse  my — my  deshabille".  [  To  Hud.,  savagely} 
I  told  you  I  was  going  to  the  dress  rehearsal. 
[Kicks  Burleigh  aside}  I  '11  get  even  with  you, 
Ned. 

Mrs.  H.  Well,  Steve,  this  has  been  an 
exciting  visit.  Does  a  college  room  often 
furnish  such  incidents  ? 

Hud.     Well,  it  's  all  the  fault  of— 

Hud.   } 

L    My  awful  chum  ! 
Burl.  \ 


A  HARVARD-YALE  EPISODE. 

"  I  'M  off  for  New  Haven  to-morrow,"  Rat- 
tleton  announced  as  he  dropped  into  Hoi- 
worthy's  room,  where  several  of  the  "  gang  " 
were  sitting.  "  Going  to  sojourn  two  days  in 
the  Land  of  Eli." 

"You  are,  eh?"  said  Burleigh.  "Well, 
you  '11  have  a  rattling  good  time  down 
there." 

"  A  'smooth  '  time,  you  mean,"  corrected  Rat- 
tleton.  "  Don't  you  know  how  to  talk  Elic 
yet?" 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  said  Burleigh.  "  When  you 
get  back  I  suppose  you  will  refer  to  the  Pore 
as  your  '  spot,'  and  if  any  of  us  who  are  not 
members  asks  you  anything  about  it  you  will 
cut  him  dead." 

"  Don't  make  any  breaks  down  there  about 
queer  pins  and  extraordinary  buildings,"  said 
Stoughton. 

"  They  are  funny  about  those  things,  are  n't 


Harvard  Stories.  2 1 1 

they  ? "  replied  Rattleton.  "  But  I  have  no 
doubt  they  can  laugh  just  as  much  at  us  about 
lots  of  things." 

"  Of  course  they  can,"  asserted  Holworthy. 
"  Vide  the  Dickey.  That  institution  is  quite 
as  absurd  as  anything  they  do  down  there." 

"Nonsense,  Hoi,"  protested  Stoughton ; 
"  whoever  thinks  up  here  of  taking  the  Dickey 
seriously, — except,  perhaps,  a  few  Sophomores 
who  are  fools  and  snobs  enough  to  be  either 
cocky  about  getting  on  it  or  sore  about  being 
left  off.  And  as  for  awe  and  reverence,  if  there 
is  any  such  feeling  at  all  towards  the  Dickey,  it 
is  confined  to  less  than  a  tenth  of  the  Freshman 
class.  What  Senior  ever  cares  two  snaps  about 
it  one  way  or  the  other  ?  " 

"  That  may  be  known  well  enough  to  us," 
answered  Holworthy,  "but  what  does  an  out 
sider  think  when  he  sees  Harvard  men  making 
such  asses  of  themselves,  as  those  do  who  are 
running  for  the  Dickey.  Don't  you  suppose  it 
looks  pretty  childish." 

"  For  instance,"  asked  Hudson,  "if  he  saw  a 
handsome  and  accomplished  gentleman  holding 
a  horse  and  dog-cart — as  I  did  for  you — while 
a  low-down  mucker  goes  in  to  call  on  the 


2 1 2  Harvard  Stories. 

handsome  gentleman's  best  girl — as  you  did  for 
me?" 

"  That  was  good  for  you,"  laughed  Hoi- 
worthy. 

"  Or  if  he  saw  as  I  did,"  added  Burleigh,  "  a 
dignified  swell,  named  Hollis  Holworthy,  kiss 
ing  all  the  babies  he  met  on  the  street." 

"  Or  a  large  and  portly  person,"  rejoined 
Hollis,  "  lying  on  his  back  in  the  public  square 
at  Concord,  and  telling  sympathetic  citizens  that 
he  was  pierced  by  a  British  musket-ball.  And 
then  running  in  the  dead  of  night  from  Concord 
to  Lexington,  dressed  in  a  continental  uniform, 
banging  on  the  door  of  every  farm-house  with 
the  butt  of  a  musket  until  he  brought  out  the 
alarmed  householder  and  told  him  that  the 
regulars  were  coming." 

"  Who  made  me  do  it  ?  "  retorted  Burleigh. 

"  I  acknowledge  I  had  a  hand  in  it,"  answered 
Holworthy.  "  I  am  confessing,  not  defending, 
De  gustibus  Sophomoris  non  est  disputandum. 
But  that  is  no  excuse.  At  Yale  they  don't  dis 
grace  their  college  that  way  at  any  rate." 

"  They  may  have  a  lot  of  poppycock  about 
their  mysterious  societies  that  seems  ridiculous 
to  us,"  said  Rattleton,  "  but  they  don't  trouble 


Harvard  Stories.  213 

anybody  else  with  it.  Any  way,  they  are  good 
fellows,  and  they  always  give  you  a  royal  time 
when  you  visit  down  there." 

"Yes,  they  do,  my  child,"  Burleigh  assented 
in  a  serious  tone.  "  Remember  that  you  rep 
resent  the  dignity  of  the  '  Oldest  and  Greatest.' 
Take  care  that  they  do  not  make  a  painful  ex 
hibition  of  our  boy." 

"  Ned  knows,"  chuckled  Hudson.  "  No  one 
has  ever  been  able  to  find  out  exactly  what 
happened  to  him  when  he  stayed  down  there 
after  the  ball-game  last  year.  He  came  back, 
looking  like  the  last  hours  of  an  ill-spent  life, 
with  a  confused  story  about  some  Yale  beverage 
named  '  Velvet '  and  a  wonderful  loving  cup 
with  no  bottom,  and  a  great  many  handles." 

"  Hush  your  idle  scandal,"  said  Burleigh. 
"  Who  are  you  going  to  stay  with,  Jack  ?  " 

"  A  first-rate  fellow  named  Sheffield,"  an 
swered  Rattleton. 

"  What  !  "  exclaimed  Hudson,  "  Joe  Shef 
field?" 

"  Yes,  do  you  know  him  ?  " 

"Wow!"  yelled  Stoughton.  "Does  Steve 
know  him !  Mr.  Hudson,  do  you  know  Mr. 
Sheffield?" 


2 1 4  Harvard  Stories. 

11  Shut  up,  Dick,"  said  Hudson  ;  "  you  prom 
ised  not  to  tell  that." 

"  I  never  promised'  anything  of  the  kind," 
declared  Dick.  "  I  had  almost  forgotten  it, 
but  I  am  glad  I  am  reminded.  All  your  friends 
ought  to  know  about  it,  Steve.  I  am  sure  they 
would  be  pleased." 

"  Hold  on  !  "  said  Hudson,  "  if  that  yarn  is 
going  to  be  told,  I  prefer  to  tell  it  myself. 
There  is  no  sting  in  a  clean  breast." 

"  Go  ahead  then,"  said  Stoughton.  "  I  '11  see 
that  you  tell  it  straight.  Tell  the  truth,  the 
whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth." 

"  It  was  down  at  Bar  Harbor,  last  summer," 
Hudson  began.  "  I  was  spending  two  weeks 
with  this  man,  Stoughton,  who  lives  there  in 
summer.  Next  to  his  place  there  was,  er — 
there  was — er ' 

"A  girl,"  interjected  Dick,  putting  in  the 
spur. 

"  Yes,  there  was,  and  an  awfully  pretty  one, 
too,"  declared  Hudson,  defiantly.  "  If  you 
will  kindly  refrain  from  interrupting,  I  can  do 
this  thing  myself.  What  I  was  going  to  say 
was  this  :  alongside  of  Dick's  place,  there  was 
another  place,  and  a  most  attractive  one.  There 


Harvard  Stories.  215 

was  a  beautiful  view  from  the  piazza  of  this 
house " 

"  On  the  piazza,"  corrected  Stoughton. 

"  Who  is  telling  this  story  ? "  demanded 
Hudson.  "  Shut  up  and  let  me  tell  it  my  own 
way.  I  used  to  go  over  to  look  at  this  view 
every  day,"  he  continued  ;  "  so  did  this  Yale 
man,  Joe  Sheffield.  I  used  to  know  Joe  at  St. 
Mark's,  and  liked  him  very  well,  but  it  was 
rather  a  nuisance  to  see  him  at  that  house  so 
much.  Really  he  overdid  it ;  why,  I  used  to 
find  him  every  time  I  went  there.  Finally  I 
made  up  my  mind  that  the  duel  was  on,  and 
I  'd  see  who  was  the  better  man.  Of  course 
this  was  purely  in  a  sporting  spirit,  you  under 
stand  ;  I  only  felt  it  my  duty  to  beat  Yale,  that 
was  all." 

"  Careful,  careful,"  murmured  Dick,  warn- 
ingly.  "  Remember, — the  truth,  the  whole 
truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth." 

"At  first  I  tried  sitting  him  out  by  fair 
means,"  Hudson  went  on,  paying  no  attention 
to  Stoughton's  side  remark  ;  "  but  the  persistent 
bore  outsat  me  every  time.  He  'd  let  me  set 
the  pace  and  do  all  the  talking,  and  then  come 
in  with  a  fresh  wind  on  the  finish  and  do  me 


2 1 6  Harvard  Stories. 

up.  But  early  in  the  struggle  a  powerful  ally 
presented  himself,  the  girl's  small  brother, 
Freddy.  He  asked  me  one  day  why  Sheffield 
wore  that  funny  little  pin  all  the  time.  I  have 
forgotten  now  which  pin  it  was  ;  but  it  was  the 
symbol  of  some  particularly  '  smooth  '  and 
secret  band  of  brothers,  and  of  course  Sheffield 
was  never  without  it.  I  had  been  yearning  to 
jab  him  on  his  pin ;  but  I  knew  I  could  n't  pre 
tend  to  be  innocent  about  it,  and  it  would  have 
been  a  little  too  rude  to  deliberately  and 
openly  make  him  uncomfortable.  I  told  Freddy 
that  I  thought  the  pin  had  something  to  do 
with  a  club  at  Yale,  but  I  had  no  idea  why  Mr. 
Sheffield  always  wore  it.  I  suggested  that  he 
might  ask  Mr.  Sheffield  himself.  It  was  a  mean 
trick,  but  I  could  n't  resist  it.  Freddy  said  he 
would,  and  I  knew  he  was  just  the  boy  to  do  it 
too.  Freddy  was  of  an  inquiring  and  tenacious 
turn  of  mind,  and  never  dropped  a  research  on 
any  subject  until  he  had  found  out  all  there 
was  to  be  learned, — he  was  a  very  fine  little 
fellow. 

"  A  little  while  after  that,  we  three  were  sitting 
as  usual  on  the  piazza,  when  my  young  ally 
came  running  up  ;  as  soon  as  he  saw  us  he  sang 


Harvard  Stories. 


217 


out  in  his  delightful,  eager,  childish  way,  '  Oh, 
Mr.  Sheffield,  I  want  you  to  tell  me  something.' 
Sheffield,  pleasant  as  punch,  said,  '  What  is  it 
Freddy?'  You  ought  to  have  seen  him  when 
Freddy  said,  '  I  want  to  know  why  you  always 
wear  that  funny  little  pin  ?  ' 

"  Sheffield  tried  to  pretend  in  the  weakest  way 
that  he  did  n't  hear  him.  The  big  sister  told 
Freddy  to  run  away  and  play  ;  but  Freddy  was 
not  the  lad  to  be  bluffed  that  way.  He  laughed 
in  a  knowing  way  and  said,  '  Ha-ha,  /  know. 
It  's  got  something  to  do  with  some  club  at 
Yale,  has  n't  it  ?  You  have  got  some  secret  about 
it,  have  n't  you  ?  But  / '//  find  it  out.  Nell 
has  secrets  too,  but  I  always  find  'em  out.' 

"  Hereupon  his  sister  told  him  that  if  he  did  n't 
mind  her,  and  stop  making  a  nuisance  of  him 
self,  she  'd  tell  his  father  and  have  him  punished. 
He  said  he  was  n't  making  a  nuisance  of  himself 
and  appealed  to  me.  "  Mr.  Hudson  always 
tells  me  all  about  the  Harvard  clubs,  don't  you, 
Mr.  Hudson?' 

"  I  assured  him  that  I  did  n't  mind  any  such 
questions  at  all,  and  told  him  (Heaven  forgive 
and  preserve  me ! )  that  if  he  would  come  and 
see  me  at  Cambridge  I  would  make  him  have  a 


2 1 8  Harvard  Stories. 

first-rate  time,  and  show  him  the  clubs  to  which 
I  belonged. 

"'  There,'  he  said,  '  you  don't  think  I  'm  a 
nuisance  either,  do  you,  Mr.  Sheffield  ?  Is  n't 
there  a  club  at  Yale  called  the  Skull  and  Keys? 
I  know  there  is,  'cause  I  once  heard  Nell  say 
she  wondered  how ' 

"  His  sister  grabbed  him  and  said  *  Stop  '  so 
severely  that  she  managed  to  choke  him  off  for 
a  moment.  But  it  had  got  too  hot  for  Joe. 
He  suddenly  remembered  that  he  had  an  en 
gagement  at  three,  at  the  Kebo  Valley  Club, 
and  retreated,  leaving  the  Crimson  to  wave 
alone  and  victorious  over  the  field. 

"  Then  how  that  girl  did  go  for  Freddy  !  He 
went  off  almost  crying.  I  tried  to  stand  up 
for  the  little  man,  and  remarked  how  ridiculous 
the  Yale  men  were  about  their  societies.  She 
did  n't  agree  with  me  very  heartily.  She  said 
it  was  a  relief  to  see  some  young  men  take  at 
least  something  seriously,  and  intimated  that 
she  did  n't  believe  Harvard  men  were  ever 
serious  about  anything,  or  had  any  reverence 
in  them.  So  for  half  an  hour  I  dilated  on  our 
great  merits,  and  explained  what  worthy  young 
men  we  really  are. 


Harvard  Stories.  219 

"  Next  day  I  tried  to  '  set '  Freddy  on  again, 
but  it  was  no  use ;  he  had  been  temporarily  sat 
on.  I  was  lunching  at  their  house,  and  for  a 
wonder  Sheffield  was  n't  there.  I  asked  Freddy 
whether  he  had  found  out  about  Mr.  Sheffield's 
club  yet.  He  said  '  No,  and  I  can't  either. 
Nell  told  on  me,  and  Popper  said  he  'd 
spank  me  if  I  troubled  older  people  any 
more.  I  did  n't  trouble  anybody,  did  I,  Mr. 
Hudson  ?  I  said  you  had  told  me  yourself  to 
ask  Mr.  Sheffield  about  his  pin,  and  Nell  said 
you ' 

"  I  never  knew  what  his  sister  had  said  about 
me,  because,  just  at  this  point,  the  old  gentle 
man  banged  the  table  and  roared,  '  You  eat 
your  lunch,  sir  ! '  and  Freddy  subsided. 

"  A  day  or  two  after  that,  we  all  went  on  a 
picnic.  Even  Dick,  the  old  hermit,  came  along, 
for  a  wonder.  I  persuaded  his  family  it  would  n't 
be  polite  for  him  to  stay  home,  as  I  was  his 
guest." 

"  Yes,"  put  in  Dick,  "you  were  my  guest  and 
I  was  responsible  for  your  behavior.  It  was  n't 
the  etiquette  that  worried  my  family,  it  was  the 
danger  of  the  thing.  Besides,  I  wanted  to  see 
you  and  Joe  Sheffield  making  fools  of  your- 


220  Harvard  Stories. 

selves.  You  did  it  too,  both  of  you.  Go  ahead. 
I  won't  interrupt  you  again." 

"  We  all  piled  into  those  delightful  long 
buckboards  with  four  or  five  seats,  and  drove  to 
the  foot  of  one  of  the  mountains.  There  is 
only  one  defect  in  the  architecture  of  a  Mt. 
Desert  buckboard.  It  holds  three  on  a  seat. 
Sheffield  had  to  shove  himself  in  on  the  same 
seat  with  the  pretty  neighbor,  so  I  got  in  on 
the  other  side  of  her.  I  did  most  of  the  talking 
during  the  drive." 

(At  points  such  as  this  during  the  narrative, 
Hudson  would  stop  and  violently  puff  his  cigar, 
while  Stoughton  would  hug  himself  gleefully, 
and  show  other  signs  of  delight.) 

"  We  carried  the  lunch  up  the  mountain," 
Hudson  went  on,  "  arid  ate  it,  along  with  the 
ants  and  other  things,  on  the  summit.  After 
lunch  Sheffield  managed  to  drop  me,  somehow, 
and  I  went  off  for  a  smoke  with  Dick.  I  con 
sulted  with  Machiavelli  Stoughton,  as  to  how  I 
might  again  cast  down  the  man  from  Yale.  I 
knew  the  crafty  Dago  could  help  me,  if  any  one 
could.  Dick  wished  for  Freddy,  for  Dick  always 
knew  how  to  use  that  interesting  child  ;  but 
Freddy  had  been  left  weeping  at  home.  Dago 


Harvard  Stories.  2  2 1 

Mac'  came  up  to  his  form,  though.  He  sud 
denly  pointed  to  a  cluster  of  brilliant  wild 
flowers.  I  said,  'Yes,  very  pretty.  What 
about  'em.'  Then  Dick  said  '  Do  you  see 
that  broad  rock  this  side  of  them?'  It  was  a 
smooth  slab  that  reached  from  the  path,  about 
twenty  feet,  down  to  where  the  flowers  grew. 
It  slanted  at  a  good  steep  angle,  so  that  a  man 
could  barely  walk  down  it,  with  rubber-soled 
shoes.  I  did  n't  get  much  inspiration  out  of 
the  rock.  Then  Dick  showed  me  a  blackberry 
vine,  or  some  sort  of  a  bramble,  that  ran  across 
the  face  of  the  rock  a  little  more  than  half  way 
down  it.  Still  I  could  n't  see  what  he  was  driv 
ing  at.  He  said  to  come  along  and  he  'd  show 
me.  We  went  to  the  basket  where  the  remains 
of  the  lunch  had  been  stowed,  and  Dick  took 
what  was  left  of  the  butter.  Then  we  went 
back  to  the  rock  and  the  Dago  greased  as  much 
as  he  could  of  it,  just  above  the  bramble. 
'  Now,'  he  said,  *  when  we  start  back  for  the 
buckboard,  you  fall  in  alongside  of  Sheffield 
and  the  enchantress.  When  you  get  to  this 
rock,  the  method  is  very  simple, — you  show  the 
flowers,  Eli  will  do  the  rest.' 

"  At  last  I  took  in  at  a  glance  all  the  grand 


222  Harvard  Stories. 

possibilities  of  the  scheme.  I  remembered  that 
Joe  Sheffield  was  very  particular  about  his  ap 
pearance,  and  was  dressed  up  to  the  hilt.  He 
was  always  sensitive  about  his  clothes.  I  fell 
upon  Dick's  neck  and  wept  tears  of  gratitude. 
Then  we  went  back  to  the  rest  of  the  party. 
Sheffield  had  had  a  monopoly  the  whole  after 
noon." 

"  A  corner  in  Paradise  ?  "  suggested  Burleigh. 

"  Exactly,"  said  Hudson,  "  or  perhaps  Para 
dise  in  a  corner.  They  did  n't  turn  up  until  we 
had  shouted  for  ten  minutes  and  the  party  had 
all  started  down  the  mountain.  I  ranged  up 
alongside  of  the  pair,  thereby  breaking  up  the 
Paradise  trust,  and  we  three  brought  up  the 
rear.  When  we  got  to  the  point  in  the  path, 
just  above  the  prepared  rock,  I  called  attention 
to  the  flowers,  with  great  art.  Of  course  she 
said  :  '  Oh,  how  perfectly  lovely  !  Oh,  I  must 
have  some  of  those !  '  and  of  course  away  we 
both  jumped.  I  let  Sheffield  get  a  little  ahead 
and  then  went  carefully  around  the  rock.  He 
bounded  gallantly  down  the  face  of  it  until  he 
struck  the  butter.  Then  he  sat  down  with  a 
dull,  sickening  thud  ; — but  he  didn't  stop  there. 
He  glided  merrily  on,  over  the  blackberry  vine, 


Harvard  Stories.  223 

and  in  among  the  seductive  flowers.  He  sat 
still  for  a  minute,  and  I  knew  the  situation  had 
dawned  on  him  with  all  its  hideous  uncertain 
ties.  Then  he  turned  himself  round,  face  to  the 
path,  and  got  up  carefully  and  slowly,  with  a 
sort  of  sideways  motion.  He  did  n't  attempt 
to  pick  any  flowers.  There  was  a  great  deal  of 
sympathy  expressed  above,  and  inquiries  as  to 
whether  he  was  hurt.  Meantime  I  had  arrived 
safely,  picked  the  whole  cluster  of  flowers,  and 
brought  them  back  in  triumph.  Sheffield 
followed  me  up,  and  when  we  moved  on,  he 
dropped  in  behind  ;  he  acknowledged  the  path 
was  too  narrow  for  three. 

"On  arriving  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  he 
leaned  up  against  a  big  tree,  while  the  buck- 
boards  were  being  manned.  The  poor  girl 
seemed  to  be  very  much  worried  about  him ; 
unnecessarily  so,  I  thought.  He  assured  her 
that  he  was  not  in  the  least  hurt,  but  he  stuck 
to  the  tree  nevertheless.  There  was  a  bird's 
nest  up  in  the  tree,  and  I  heard  Dick  ask 
Sheffield  to  climb  up  and  see  if  there  were  any 
eggs  in  it,  to  oblige  the  ladies.  I  helped  the 
girl  into  the  buckboard  and  climbed  in  beside 
her.  After  every  one  else  had  got  aboard,  the 


224  Harvard  Stories. 

last  seat,  with  Dick,  was  good  enough  for 
Sheffield.  I  ran  the  Paradise  industry,  without 
competition,  all  the  way  home.  There  seemed 
to  be  a  certain  hitch  in  it,  however,  for  she 
kept  wondering  whether  Sheffield  was  hurt. 
The  bunch  of  wild  flowers  dropped  out  on  the 
way,  and  Dick  and  I  both  jumped  out  and 
chased  it ;  Sheffield  did  n't  even  turn  around  to 
see  what  had  fallen.  I  slapped  Dick  on  the 
back  as  we  were  picking  up  the  flowers  and  said  : 
'  She  must  have  an  opinion  of  his  manners.' 
Great  Scott !  that  was  all  I  knew  about  it !  " 

Here  Stoughton  went  through  the  hugging 
pantomime  for  the  fourteenth  time. 

11  She  did  n't  seem  to  be  very  grateful  when 
I  brought  those  flowers  back,  and  would  n't 
talk  much  all  the  way  home.  She  said  she  was 
sure  Sheffield  was  hurt,  and  all  on  her  account. 
When  we  arrived  she  asked  him  to  dinner.  He 
stayed  in  the  buckboard  and  drove  to  his  hotel 
to  dress.  She  did  n't  ask  me  to  dinner,  and,  by 
Jove,  she  left  those  flowers  over  which  I  had 
taken  so  much  trouble  in  the  buckboard  !  I 
was  very  grateful  to  the  flowers,  nevertheless." 

"Well,  I  don't  see  where  the  joke  on  you 
comes  in,"  said  Holworthy,  as  Hudson  paused. 


Harvard  Stories.  225 

"Neither  did  I,"  answered  Hudson.  "I 
thought,  in  fact,  that  I  had  been  pretty  clever 
about  the  whole  affair,  until — until,"  he  went 
on,  gathering  force  by  the  repetition,  "  until  the 
engagement  was  announced!  By  Jove !  "  hurling 
his  cigar  butt  into  the  fireplace  as  the  recollec 
tion  grew  on  him,  "  that  man  and  that  girl  had 
been  engaged  all  summer ;  for  a  week  I  had 
been  playing  smart  Alec  and  steady  number 
three,  making  her  hate  the  sight  of  me,  while 
the  Yale  man  was  undoubtedly  all  the  time 
laughing  in  his  sleeve  at  seeing  me  make  a  fool 
of  myself." 

"  Go  on,"  Commanded  the  relentless  Stough- 
ton.  "  Go  on,  there  is  an  epilogue, — or  do  you 
want  me  to  tell  it?" 

"  No,  I  '11  do  the  whole  thing,"  said  Hudson, 
humbly.  "  When  Dick  and  I  went  round  to 
call  after  the  announcement,  and  congratulate 
Sheffield,  my  little  friend  Freddy  came  running 
into  the  room.  'Oh,  Mr.  Hudson,'  he  shouted, 
*  is  n't  it  fun  !  Now  we  know  why  Nell  got  so 
mad  about  my  bothering  Joe.  Joe  's  very  nice, 
but  really  I  would  rather  have  had  you,  and  I 
told  her  so.'  " 

"  That  was  n't  all  he  said/'   remarked  Dick, 
15 


226  Harvard  Stories. 

"  but  I  '11  let  you  off  the  rest.  I  '11  hold  it  over 
you  for  future  occasions." 

When  Rattleton  returned  from  New  Haven 
a  few  days  later,  he  announced  at  the  table  that 
his  friend  Sheffield  was  coming  up  for  Class 
Day,  with  his  fiancee.  He  had  sent  a  special 
message  to  Hudson  to  say  that  they  were  going 
to  bring  Freddy,  because  Freddy  was  crazy  to 
see  Harvard,  and  Hudson  had  promised  to  show 
him  all  over  college  and  take  him  into  all  the 
clubs. 

"Whew!"  whistled  Hudson;  "d that 

horrid  little  boy." 


THE  DAYS  OF  RECKONING. 

JUNE,  June,  beautiful,  glowing,  fascinating 
June,  no  doubt  thou  art  tired  of  hearing  thy 
charms  sung  by  lovers  more  eloquent  than  I, 
but  forgive  this  outburst  from  one  who  has 
known  thee  in  the  shades  of  Cambridge.  Never 
art  thou  more  seductive  than  where  the  old  walls 
and  stately  elm  trees  trace  their  cool  outlines  on 
the  turf  of  the  Yard,  where  the  earnest,  eager 
students,  prone  on  the  greensward,  blow  upon 
blades  of  grass  between  their  thumbs,  and  bet 
on  sparrow  rights  and  caterpillar  races.  The 
tennis-courts  are  alive  ;  there  are  ball  games  on 
Holmes'  Field,  and  the  river  winding  through 
the  green-flowing  meadow  (the  tide  being  high 
and  the  mud  covered)  is  dotted  with  swift-glid 
ing  shells.  In  the  long-fading  twilight  the 
bright-beflannelled  and  straw-behatted  groups 
sit  upon  the  fences,  and  lounge  about  the  streets, 
trying  to  screw  up  enough  energy  to  disperse 
to  their  rooms,  and  study  for  the — FINALS. 
227 


228  Harvard  Stories. 

Ah,  June,  that  is  the  one  worm  i'  the  bud 
of  thy  beauty !  It  is  hard,  indeed,  to  eschew 
the  racquet  and  the  oar;  to  go  over  to  the 
Library  at  an  early  hour  and  hunt  up  Story  on 
the  Constitution,  or  Dana's  Wheaton,  or  Ruskin's 
Stones ;  to  find  it  seized,  and  promised  to  five 
other  men  before  yourself ;  to  seek  a  retired  al 
cove  less  hot  than  the  rest  of  the  drowsy  place, 
and  there,  taking  off  your  coat,  to  doze  over  a 
volume  until  four  o'clock,  when  the  reserved 
books  may  be  taken  out ;  then  to  carry  a  huge 
book  over  to  your  room,  and  with  an  awakening 
cigar,  grind  until  dinner-time  ;  to  go  at  it  again 
in  the  evening  when  the  scent  of  early  summer 
drifts  through  the  open  window,  together  with 
the  singing  and  laughter  of  some  inconsiderate 
jackass  who  has  finished  his  examinations,  or 
does  not  care  whether  he  gets  through  them 
or  not.  Hard  is  all  this,  but  still,  oh,  June,  I 
would  woo  thee  again  in  those  shades  even  in 
that  wise ;  for,  perchance,  I  might  finish  my 
examinations  early  and  then  would  I  enjoy  life 
to  its  fullest,  and  make  it  miserable  for  my  less 
fortunate  friends.  I  would  join  with  those  who 
had  also  finished  their  work,  and  we  would  have 
a  grand  reaction.  We  would  urge  the  others 


Harvard  Stories.  229 

to  join  us  on  the  river  and  the  tennis-courts ; 
we  would  sing  in  the  Yard  of  evenings,  and  the 
free  would  put  their  heads  out  of  window  and 
cry  "  More  !  More  ! !  "  while  the  still  grinding 
slaves  would  cry  "  Shut  up  !  "  and  other  things 
that  I  should  grieve  to  hear  and  will  not  state  ; 
and  if  haply  we  sat  upon  the  steps  of  Mat 
thews  or  of  Holworthy,  or  any  where  within 
range,  these  same  scurvy  slaves  would  throw 
pitchers  of  water  and  other  things,  even  eggs 
kept  for  the  purpose,  until  we  untrammelled 
souls  betook  ourselves  elsewhere.  Then  would 
we  go  to  the  "  pop  "  concert,  or  the  Howard 
Athenaeum,  or  other  abode  of  intellectual  rest ; 
and  after  that  we  would  sup  with  great  mirth. 
We  would  found  a  recuperating  club  for  weary 
minds,  and  as  each  friend  threw  off  the  yoke  and 
joined  us,  we  would  receive  him  with  becoming 
ceremonies.  Oh  !  the  last  week  before  Class 
Day  is  well  worth  the  pains  of  the  other  three. 

"  What  is  so  rare  as  a  day  in  June  !  "  carolled 
Hudson  joyfully,  as  he  danced  into  his  room 
and  thumped  Burleigh  on  the  back. 

"  One  in  February,"  growled  that  portly 
gentleman,  "  there  are  two  less  of  'em  in  the 
year.  Now  look  here  ;  if  you  are  going  to 


230  Harvard  Stories. 

kick  up  a  row  because  you  are  all  through,  just 
get  out  of  here,  and  make  your  ill-timed  noise 
somewhere  else." 

"  Don't  be  so  sour.  Hullo,  Lazy  Jack  ;  these 
be  hard  times  for  you,  old  Butterfly.  How 
many  more  have  you  got?  " 

"  Five,"  sighed  Jack.  "  Pol.  Econ.  23,  Fine 
Arts,  Freshman  English,  and  two  entrance 
conditions." 

"  Great  Scott !  The  way  of  the  transgressor 
is  hard." 

"  Clear  out  of  here,"  commanded  Burleigh. 
I  am  coaching  this  man  Rattleton,  and  I  don't 
want  any  interruption  in  my  private  tutoring. 
Get  out,"  and  Ned  hove  a  dictionary  at  his 
exuberant  room-mate. 

"  Oh,  if  you  are  laboring  with  Jack,  I  won't 
interfere  with  the  good  work  of  the  Rattleton 
Rescue  Mission,"  said  Hudson,  dodging  the 
dictionary  and  taking  himself  off  to  irritate 
some  one  else. 

Ned  Burleigh  was  never  in  such  a  mood  about 
his  own  examinations.  He  was  one  of  the  few 
men  for  whom  those  trials  had  no  terrors.  None 
of  his  friends  could  tell  exactly  when  he  did 
work  for  an  examination  ;  it  might  have  been 


Harvard  Stories.  231 

at  4  A.M.  on  the  same  morning  after  a  supper  ;  it 
might  have  been  on  the  train  during  an  inter- 
exam,  excursion  to  Newport,  or  on  a  cat-boat 
cruise  in  the  harbor.  Yet  he  had  never  failed. 
He  used  to  say  that  to  know  too  much  about  a 
course  made  the  examinations  mere  drudgery, 
but  that  when  there  was  an  uncertainty,  then 
there  was  some  sport  in  the  struggle,  some  ex 
citement  as  to  whether  you  could  throw  the 
paper  or  the  paper  would  throw  you.  That 
was  all  very  well  for  him,  who  generally  "  ragged 
a  B."  and  never  got  "  flunked,"  but  it  was  a 
dangerous  attempt  for  most  men  to  follow  his 
example. 

This  year,  however,  Ned  was  devoting  him 
self  to  Jack  Rattleton.  It  was  a  serious  case 
with  Jack,  for  he  had  any  number  of  conditions 
to  work  off,  so  many,  in  fact,  that  every  one  was 
rather  astonished  at  his  attempt  to  retrieve  his 
degree,  and  at  the  unwonted,  desperate  efforts 
of  Lazy  Jack.  It  was  a  forlorn  hope,  and  the 
betting  was  heavily  against  him.  Under  any 
circumstances  Ned  Burleigh  would  have  done 
all  he  could  to  help  poor  Jack  pull  through,  but, 
added  to  his  unselfish  interest  in  his  friend,  were 
pride  in  his  pupil  and  the  fact  that  he  had  taken 


232  Harvard  Stories. 

some  of  the  long  odds  against  him.  Nor  could 
Jack  have  found  a  better  coach  in  the  most  high- 
priced  tutor  in  Cambridge.  With  a  thorough 
knowledge  of  the  courses  he  had  taken,  Ned 
combined  a  knowledge  of  the  presiding  minds 
in  those  courses,  and,  moreover,  he  understood 
perfectly  the  science  of  passing  an  examination. 
"  Now,  Jack,"  he  said,  "  you  know  the  im 
portant  points  and  main  definitions  in  that 
course  pretty  well.  Just  remember  that  all  that 
is  good  is  Greek,  and  all  that  is  Greek  is  good, 
and  no  modern  work  from  the  Brooklyn 
Bridge  to  a  beer  mug  is  worthy  of  aught  save 
the  abhorrence  of  cultivated  men.  If  the 
exam,  is  in  Sever,  you  might  throw  in  an  allu 
sion  to  the  draughts  and  feul  air  in  that  mod 
ern  pile  of  bricks.  Now  how  about  Pol.  Econ. 
23?  Let's  see,  does  Jowler  give  that  still? 
Well,  you  are  morally  certain  to  have  a  question 
on  the  Tariff  of  '46 — that  is  his  pet.  Be  cer 
tain  that  the  country  has  never  been  more  pros 
perous  than  under  that  tariff.  Of  course,  there 
was  the  discovery  of  gold  and  other  causes  of 
prosperity  at  the  same  time,  but  unless  you 
know  all  about  them,  and  can  explain  them 
away,  don't  touch  on  them  at  all.  Jowler  is  a 


Harvard  Stories.  233 

free  trader,  bear  that  in  mind.  I  will  do  him 
the  justice  to  say  that  he  would  be  delighted  if 
you  knew  enough  about  the  course  and  were 
clever  enough  to  make  any  strong  points  for 
protection  ;  but  you  are  not,  so  don't  try  it. 
Stick  to  plain,  first  principles,  and  show  that 
the  country  is  going  to  the  devil." 

"  Gad,  Ned,"  said  Rattleton,  shaking  his 
head  in  mournful  admiration,  "  it  is  a  great 
thing  to  have  learned  so  much.  I  have  wasted 
my  advantages  awfully." 

"  Constant  application,  my  son,"  quoth  Bur- 
leigh,  (who  for  three  years  had  been  on  the 
ragged  edge  of  probation,  and  had  been  saved 
only  by  his  high  marks),  "  strict  attendance  on 
lectures,  and  careful  attention  to  the  great  men 
under  whom  it  is  our  privilege  to  sit.  Even  if 
you  never  go  near  the  library,  you  can  learn 
much  in  the  lecture-room.  Now  I  must  leave 
you  ;  I  am  going  to  a  seminar  over  in  College 
House." 

"All  right,  I  have  got  to  leave,  too,"  said 
Jack,  looking  at  his  watch.  "  There  is  a  grind 
ing  bee  in  entrance  Greek,  in  Jim  de  Laye's 
room — lot  of  foolish  virgins  like  myself,  who 
have  put  off  the  job  until  Senior  year,  and  are 


234  Harvard  Stories. 

doing  their  school  work  now.  By  the  way,  I 
promised  to  collar  a  mucker  to  drive  the 
horse." 

"Get  my  friend,  Mr.  James  Casey;  very  in 
telligent  young  man ;  understands  the  job 
thoroughly.  You  will  undoubtedly  find  him 
playing  duck-on-a-rock  in  a  vacant  lot  back  of 
Holyoke,  or  badgering  the  Dago  fruit-man  on 
the  corner.  If  you  don't  find  him,  drop  a 
package  of  cigarettes  somewhere,  and  watch  it ; 
you  will  catch  a  mucker  right  away." 

"  A  better  way  than  that,"  said  Jack,  "  is  to 
chain  Blathers  to  the  iron  railing  of  the  Pud 
ding,  and  stand  behind  the  door.  In  five 
minutes  all  the  best  talent  in  muckerdom  will 
be  there  with  tin-cans  and  stones." 

Jack  had  no  need,  however,  to  expose  his 
faithful  hound.  He  found  a  covey  of  muckers, 
in  the  vacant  lot  before  mentioned,  and  on 
demanding  whether  any  of  them  could  read, 
was  at  once  besieged  with  volunteers  to  "  drive 
the  pony."  "  Chimmie  "  Casey  was  among 
them,  and  Jack  secured  his  services.  "Chimmie" 
had  been  at  school  to  some  advantage,  for  he 
could  read  Bonn's  translations  with  great 
fluency  (which  is  the  English  of  "  driving  the 


Harvard  Stories. 


235 


pony  "),  and  made  many  a  half  dollar  by  his 
learning. 

Jack  took  him  round  to  De  Laye's  room, 
where  eight  or  ten  men  were  already  assembled, 
with  books,  pipes,  and  siphons  of  seltzer,  ready 
for  the  services.  The  mucker  was  put  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  with  the  "trot";  the 
students  sat  around  him  and  followed  the 
translation  in  their  Greek  texts.  The  following 
is  a  short  specimen  of  Prof.  Casey's  flowing 
delivery  of  the  Iliad: 

"  Den  puttin'  on  deir  shinin'  mail,  dey  moved 
apart  from  de  great  crowd  of  admirin'  Trojans 
and  well-greased  Greeks.  Den  Jones  spake " 

"What!" 

"  I  can't  say  dese  hard  names.  Mr.  Burleigh 
told  me  to  call  'em  all  Jones  when  I  got  stuck." 

"All  right,  go  ahead." 

"  Jones  spake  wid  words  of  hate.  '  Dog-eyed 
son  of — son  of — '  Gosh  !  dat  's  a  hard  name  to 
call  a  feller." 

"  Let  it  go  at  Jones." 

"  '  Dog-eyed  son  of  Jones  [I  must  learn  dat], 
now  shalt  dou  meet  dy  doom.  To  him  Jones, 
de  god-like  son  o'  Jones — '  say,  how  did  dese 
fellers  all  have  different  names  from  der  faders  ?  " 


236  Harvard  Stories. 

"  Never  mind  ;  go  on  with  the  trot." 

"'T'ink  not  to  turn  my  heart  to  water  wid 
your  vauntin'  words  '  [always  jawin'  before  dey 
fight]. 

"  He  spake  and  t'rew  his  mighty  spear  and 
struck  full  in  de  midst  of  Jones'  buckler  round. 
It  pierced  eight  folds  of  tough  bull-hide  and 
t'rough  de  brazen  breastplate  and  cut  de  linen 
vest  beneat'  [dat  Jones  was  a  daisy].  Den 
Jones,  poisin'  his  mighty  spear,  prayed  to 
Jove :  '  Oh,  fader  Jove,  wreak  now  meet 
punishment  on  dis  offender;  send  him  to  de 
shades  by  my  arm/ — say,  what 's  he  always 
stoppin'  to  talk  to  dat  feller  for  in  de  middle 
of  a  scrap  ?  " 

"  Shut  up  and  go  on  !  " 

"  He  trew  his  spear  in  turn,  but  de  point  fell 
harmless.  Den  again  he  cried  aloud  :  '  Oh, 
fader  Jove,  dou  art  de  most  unkind' — was  Jove 
de  referee?" 

"  Look  here,  Jamesey,  if  you  don't  stop 
talking  we  '11  dock  your  pay." 

"  Den  sure  de  light  had  sped  from  Jones' 
eyes,  but  mudder  Venus,  when  she  saw  her  son 
hard-pressed,  flew  to  his  side.  From  de  field 
she  bore  him  far  from  Jones'  wrat',  wrapped  in 


Harvard  Stories.  237 

a  hollow  cloud  [de  h —  she  did  !  Dat  's  de 
silliest  fight  ever  I  hear  on.]  " 

At  the  end  of  the  "  grinding  bee  "  young  Mr. 
Casey  was  dismissed  with  coins,  a  cigarette, 
and  advice  to  restrict  his  annotations  in  future 
lectures. 

Rattleton  struggled  along  in  his  new  mode 
of  life  for  a  week  or  two  longer,  until  his  last 
examination  a  few  days  before  Class  Day.  Ned 
had  sent  him  to  bed  early  on  the  night  before. 
At  breakfast,  and  on  the  way  over  to  University, 
Nestor  gave  his  final  advice. 

"  Look  your  paper  over  carefully  before  you 
begin  to  write.  Write  only  on  those  questions 
that  you  can  answer,  and  write  a  lot  on  them, 
so  that  you  apparently  have  no  time  for  the 
others.  Don't  try  to  bluff  on  the  questions 
that  you  don't  know ;  some  men  can  do  it,  but 
don't  you  try  it.  It  rarely  goes  down  with 
Jowler.  Take  the  whole  three  hours,  and 
don't  go  out  early,  even  if  you  have  written  all 
you  know.  Now,  good  luck  to  you,  old  man  ; 
go  in  and  win.  I  '11  see  you  at  lunch." 

The  paper  was  very  easy.  Dick  Stoughton 
had  the  same  course,  and  finished  his  answers 
early.  While  waiting  a  decent  time  for  ap- 


2^8  Harvard  Stories. 

\j 

pearance  sake,  before  going  out,  he  executed  a 
characteristic  stroke.  Brown,  the  proctor,  was 
a  man  who  prided  himself  on  his  sharpness  and 
yearned  for  opportunities  to  show  it.  He  was 
taking  a  post-graduate  course,  and  had  been  in 
the  University  only  one  year.  He  had  a  custom 
of  walking  stealthily  about  the  room,  and,  in 
the  most  offensive  manner,  peering  over  men's 
shoulders  while  they  wrote.  On  one  of  these 
hunts  he  sat  down  on  the  corner  of  Stoughton's 
desk  and  looked  over  the  shoulder  of  the  man 
in  front.  Machiavelli  Stoughton  hastily  wrote 
out,  on  the  back  of  the  examination  paper,  the 
gist  of  half  the  answers.  This  paper  he  pinned 
on  the  back  of  the  proctor's  coat  with  the  legend 
"Read  him  and  pass  him  along."  Brown  then 
continued  on  his  tour  of  inspection,  to  the 
edification  of  all  and  the  salvation  of  many. 

Several  other  men  came  out  early  also. 
They  gathered  on  the  steps  of  University, 
and  compared  notes  on  the  paper.  The  chief 
topic  of  conversation,  however,  was  Rattleton. 

"  I  am  afraid  the  jig  is  up  with  poor  Jack 
Rat,"  said  one  man.  "  He  is  stuck." 

"  Yes,  I  saw  him  biting  his  pencil  and  tearing 
his  hair,"  corroborated  another. 


Harvard  Stories.  239 

"  He  looked  gloomy  as  a  funeral,"  said  Dick  ; 
"  besides  that  paper  was  so  easy  that,  if  he 
knew  anything  about  the  course,  he  ought  to 
have  finished  by  this  time." 

"  He  will  lose  his  degree  surely  unless  he  gets 
a  squint  at  Brown's  back,"  said  Gray.  "  Can't 
anything  more  be  done  for  him  ?  Set  your 
crafty  brains  at  work,  Dago  Dick." 

"  Of  course,  nothing  can  be  done,"  said 
another  man.  "  How  are  we  going  to  com 
municate  with  him  from  out  here  ?  We  might 
get  him  in  an  awful  scrape  " 

"  Hold  on,  I  Ve  got  it !  "  cried  Stoughton, 
and  dashed  off  across  the  Yard. 

Half  an  hour  later  a  man  hurriedly  entered 
the  drowsy  examination  room  in  University, 
and  went  up  to  the  proctor  with  a  telegram. 
Brown  looked  at  the  address  and  took  it  over 
to  Rattleton.  Jack  was  now  slumped  down  in 
his  seat  gazing  blankly  at  a  fly  in  his  inkstand, 
probably  wishing  to  change  places  with  the  fly. 
The  proctor  handed  him  the  telegram  and  stood 
near  him.  Jack  opened  the  envelope,  then 
started  and  smiled  a  little  as  he  read  the  mes 
sage.  He  looked  up  suddenly  and  caught  the 
proctor  trying  to  read  the  telegram. 


240  Harvard  Stories. 

"No  bad  news  I  hope,  Mr.  Rattleton,"  said 
the  latter,  looking  at  him  narrowly. 

"  Oh,  no,"  answered  Jack,  "  best  of  news." 
He  closed  his  blue  book  with  a  slam  and  re 
turned  the  proctor's  gaze  squarely. 

"  Ahem  !  "  coughed  that  officer  of  the  Court. 
"  I  presume,  of  course,  Mr.  Rattleton,  that  your 
message  is  in  no  way  connected  with  this  ex 
amination?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Brown,  "replied  Jack 
in  his  deliberate  drawl,  "  you  do  not  presume 
anything  of  the  kind.  If  you  did,  you  would 
have  better  manners  than  to  be  so  inquisitive 
about  it ; — at  least  I  will  give  you  credit  for 
such.  As  a  matter  of  fact  this  telegram  con 
tains  no  information  on  the  paper." 

"  I  must  insist  upon  seeing  it,  sir,"  exclaimed 
the  red  and  astounded  proctor. 

Jack  rose  to  his  feet.  "  You  heard  what  I 
said,"  he  remarked  quietly.  "  I  am  not  in  the 
habit  of  being  doubted." 

He  walked  up  to  the  desk  at  the  end  of  the 
room,  and  put  his  blue  book  on  the  pile  of 
others.  "  You  notice,  Mr.  Brown,  that  I  have 
not  written  a  word  since  receiving  this  message. 
I  do  not  know  who  sent  it,  nor  anything  about 


Ha  rvard  Stories.  2  4 1 

it.  Here  it  is  if  you  would  like  to  read  it."  He 
threw  the  telegram  on  the  desk  and  stalked  out 
of  the  room. 

The  group  of  men  on  the  steps  outside 
crowded  around  him  with  eager  inquiries. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Jack,  "  but  I  guess  I 
got  through.  I  had  written  most  of  the  an 
swers  half  an  hour  ago,  but,  of  course,  I  was 
not  fool  enough  to  go  out  early,  and  have  the 
proctor  mark  the  time  on  my  blue  book.  That 
is  all  very  well  for  you  fellows  who  are  sure  of 
your  answers  and  have  good  reputations,  but  I 
need  to  exhibit  the  full  three  hours  of  careful 
thought.  I  should  have  stayed  to  the  end  if  I 
had  n't  had  a  tiff  with  Brown,  the  proctor,  about 
a  telegram." 

"  What !  "  cried  the  others.  "  Dick  Stough- 
ton's  telegram  ?  What  happened  ?" 

"  Nothing  much;    Brown  has  it." 

"  Nothing  much !  You  are  a  ruined  man  ! 
Did  n't  you  see  that  telegram  was  a  brilliant 
idea  of  Dago  Mac's.  It  had  all  the  answers  in 
it;  did  n't  it,  Dick?" 

Jack  looked  at  Dick,  and  grinned. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  that  crafty  genius,  "that  is 
only  what  you  fellows  thought.  I  was  n't  fool 

16 


242  Harvard  Stories. 

enough  to  write  anything  of  the  kind,  when 
that  Argus  Brown  was  proctor." 

"  If  he  is  small  enough  to  look  at  that  tele 
gram  after  I  gave  it  to  him,"  said  Jack,  "  what 
he  read  was  this :  '  Get  into  a  row  with  Brown 
about  this  telegram.  He  is  a  cad,  and  will 
probably  accuse  you  of  lying.  Old  Jowler 
hates  that  sort  of  thing,  and  has  no  love  for 
the  Brown  type  of  proctor.  If  he  hears  of  the 
row,  he  will  count  it  up  in  your  favor.' " 


CLASS  DAY. 

THE  conflict  of  evidence  in  the  case  renders 
it  difficult  to  decide  whether  Class  Day  is  the 
gayest  or  the  saddest  of  the  college  year.  Cer 
tain  graduates,  being  duly  sworn,  depose  that 
it  was  the  happiest  day  of  their  whole  lives  ; 
an  equal  number — no,  the  Court  will  presume 
the  better — a  somewhat  smaller  number,  refuses 
to  testify  a,  U,  until  kind  Time  has  obliterated, 
or,  at  any  ;  e,  mitigated,  important  facts  in 
the  case  ;  mtil,  indeed,  the  memory  of  man 
goeth  not,  or  goeth  gently,  to  the  harsh  Con 
trary.  Most  of  the  Seniors  bear  witness  as  here 
followeth.  Were  too  busy  to  notice  their  im 
pressions  distinctly ;  remember  being  blue  at 
intervals,  decidedly  so  in  the  evening.  Think 
they  felt  jolly  on  the  way  to  Saunders'  Theatre 
behind  the  band  ;  know  they  felt  gloomy  in 
Saunders'.  Were  worried  at  their  own  spreads ; 
believe  the  strawberries  gave  out ;  had  a  very 
fair  time  at  the  other  fellows'  spreads.  Got 
243 


244  Harvard  Stories. 

badly  banged  around  the  Tree  ;  can  swear  they 
got  more  flowers  off  it  than  anybody  else.  Took 
good  care  of  their  families  to  the  best  of  their 
knowledge  and  belief;  took  their  mothers  up 
to  their  rooms,  when  affected  by  the  heat ;  did 
not  see  their  sisters  ;  saw  very  little  of  any 
other  sisters.  Enjoyed  the  singing  of  the  Glee 
Club  until  it  came  to  "  College  Days  are  Over" 
and  "  Fair  Harvard  "  ;  began  to  feel  a  little  out 
of  sorts  then,  and  grew  more  so  after  everybody 
had  gone.  Continued  in  same  frame  of  mind 
until  the  wind-up  at  the  club.  How  they  felt 
after  that  some  deponents  say  not,  others  tes 
tify  to  being  still  more  depressed,  and  going  to 
bed  in  decided  gloom.  On  the  whole,  think 
the  day  was  a  sad  one. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  testimony  of  the 
Juniors  and  under-classmen  is  overwhelmingly 
on  the  side  of  joy.  So  is  that  of  the  rank  and 
file  of  the  army  of  occupation.  The  generals, 
officers  of  the  day,  and  provost-marshals  of  that 
army  testify  that  it  is  a  day  of  hard  work  and 
wearing  responsibility.  For  on  that  day  the 
largest  stronghold  of  Trouserdom  capitulates 
unconditionally,  and  from  bastion  to  casemate 
is  swept  by  the  skirts  of  the  invading  battalions. 


Harvard  Stories.  245 

Bright  dresses  everywhere  dot  the  grass,  and 
float  over  floors  that  for  twelve  months  have 
known  only  the  tread  of  the  trousered  boot. 
Some  of  the  clubs  even  are  surrendered,  and 
only  here  and  there  is  kept  a  hiding-place,  to 
which  the  overpowered  defenders  may  flee  to 
rally  on  a  cigar,  or  change  their  wilted  armor. 
The  garrison  is  enslaved  almost  to  a  man,  each 
one  being  attached  to  the  train  of  some  con 
queror.  During  the  day  the  victors  are  content 
with  such  triumph,  and  show  some  clemency 
while  their  officers  hold  them  in  check ;  but 
when  the  shades  of  evening  begin  to  fall,  and 
the  provost-marshals  have  grown  tired,  then  the 
slavery  is  turned  into  a  massacre.  Scenes  of 
carnage  are  everywhere,  and  the  helpless  cap 
tives  are  put  to  the  fan  without  mercy.  Some 
are  merely  tortured  a  little,  others  slaughtered 
outright,  and  at  the  end  of  the  evening  many  a 
scalp  goes  forth  dangling  from  a  slender  waist. 
On  the  other  hand,  however,  it  is  a  solace  to 
reflect  that  some  of  the  invaders  are  themselves 
captured,  and  paroled  for  life. 

Dick  Stoughton  had  declared  that  there  was 
to  be  no  tomfoolery  for  him.  His  people  had 
gone  abroad,  and  he  would  therefore  incur  no 


246  Harvard  Stories. 

filial  liabilities.  He  rarely  went  anywhere  in 
society,  and  had  no  civilities  to  repay.  He 
thanked  Providence  that  "  not  one  mother's 
daughter  of  'em  had  any  mortgage "  on  him. 
The  only  people  he  invited  lived  in  the  far 
West,  and  would  n't  come.  It  is  often  said 
that  a  man  never  enjoys  his  own  Class  Day ;  he 
would  see  about  that.  He  called  for  volun 
teers  in  the  good  work.  None  of  Ned  Bur- 
leigh's  relatives  were  coming  East,  so  he  agreed 
to  stand  on  Dick's  right  hand  and  keep  the 
strike  with  him.  Randolph  was  also  family- 
free  and  promised  to  join  in  the  stand  for 
liberty.  These  three  organized  as  the  Pro 
tective  Brotherhood  of  Amalgamated  Seniors. 
The  objects  of  the  Brotherhood  were  declared 
to  be  lunch,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happi 
ness.  The  first  rule  was  to  assist  each  other  in 
obtaining  nourishment  and  irrigation  at  the 
crowded  "  spreads."  They  were  to  do  com 
missariat  duty  for  no  one.  The  second  prin 
ciple  was  to  stand  by  each  other  through  all  the 
perils  of  the  day ;  if  any  brother  should  be 
captured  the  others  were  to  rescue  him  at  once, 
— three  men  could  resist  better  than  one.  They 
also  arranged  a  plan  of  co-operation  and  mutual 


Harvard  Stories.  247 

relief,  by  which  any  member  could  talk  to  any 
one  he  chose  without  fear  of  bondage.  The 
strategic  moves  were  as  follows.  If  one  of  the 
three  saw  some  one  to  whom  he  wanted  to 
talk,  he  was  to  notify  the  others,  who  would 
stand  at  his  back  while  he  opened  fire.  A  time 
limit  of  five  minutes  was  to  be  allowed  him. 
Brother  Stoughton  wanted  to  cut  this  down  to 
two  minutes,  and  Brother  Randolph  desired 
ten.  The  altercation  roused  suspicions  in 
Brother  Stoughton's  mind,  and  insinuations  on 
his  part  against  Brother  Randolph's  sincerity ; 
but  Brother  Burleigh  smoothed  over  the  incipi 
ent  breach  and  compromised  on  five  minutes. 
At  the  end  of  five  minutes  the  fire  was  to  be 
slackened,  and  half  of  the  reserves  called  up 
by  saying:  "May  I  present  my  friend,"  etc. 
One  of  the  fresh  supports  should  then  wheel  to 
the  front,  and  while  he  engaged  the  enemy, 
the  other  two  should  go  off  and  find  a  non 
union  man, — a  happy,  irresponsible  Junior,  if 
possible,  one  of  those  important,  conceited 
Juniors,  who  wear  little  silver  ushers'  pins,  and 
think  they  are  running  the  whole  thing  and 
having  a  glorious  time.  The  two  brethren 
were  to  tell  this  Junior  that  a  very  charming 


248  Harvard  Stories. 

girl  had  asked  particularly  to  have  him  pre 
sented.  Then  they  should  take  him  up  to 
where  their  companion  was  holding  his  ground, 
throw  the  Junior  into  the  action,  and  under  cover 
of  this  diversion  the  three  would  retreat  and 
leave  him  to  his  fate,  pleasant  or  otherwise,  as 
the  case  might  be. 

Hudson  thought  the  plan  an  excellent  one, 
but  was  precluded  from  joining  by  family  cares. 
Holworthy  said  "  nonsense,"  and  also  expected 
to  be  busy  all  day.  Gray  declared  it  was  all 
out  of  keeping  with  the  spirit  of  the  day,  and 
indignantly  refused  to  have  anything  to  do 
with  it ;  whereupon  the  Amalgamated  Brethren 
called  him  "  scab,"  and  threatened  to  shadow 
him  during  the  evening.  Jack  Rattleton  did 
not  show  much  interest  on  either  side,  and 
indeed  was  not  sure  that  he  would  stay  up  for 
Class  Day  at  all.  There  was  something  the 
matter  with  Jack,  probably  the  effects  of  his 
abnormal  efforts  during  the  examinations. 

It  rains  on  Class  Day  every  fifth  year,  and  as 
this  was  only  the  third,  the  weather  was  all 
right  on  the  great  morning.  The  vanguard  of 
the  invaders  was  first  met  in  Saunders' Theatre, 
and  there  held  in  check  and  severely  handled 


Harvard  Stories.  249 

for  an  hour  and  a  half.  That  was  the  last  re 
sistance  offered,  however  ;  after  that  the  bright, 
victorious  masses  swarmed  everywhere,  and  re 
inforcements  kept  pouring  in  over  the  bridge. 
The  Protective  Brotherhood  formed  square  im 
mediately,  and  bravely  cut  its  way  through  the 
opening  spread  at  the  Hemenway  Gymnasium. 
It  moved  on  the  other  spreads  with  equal 
success.  There  was  a  little  friction  early  in  the 
day  betwixt  Brothers  Stoughton  and  Randolph, 
because  the  latter  led  into  action  with  unneces 
sary  frequency  and  boldness.  He  wanted  to 
talk  to  some  one  every  fifteen  minetes,  and  the 
supporting  tactics  had  to  be  put  in  operation 
too  often  to  suit  Dick.  Furthermore,  Randolph 
frequently  ran  over  the  time  limit. 

In  the  struggle  round  the  Tree,  the  "  gang  " 
organized  itself  with  great  effect.  Little  Gray 
was  mounted  on  Burleigh's  shoulders,  and  with 
the  others  guarding  him,  tore  down  flowers 
enough  for  all  his  supporters.  After  the  Tree, 
the  Brotherhood  prudently  united  again,  and 
towards  evening  went  cautiously  to  the  Beck 
Hall  spread.  They  had  hardly  got  on  the 
grounds  before  Randolph  in  an  undertone 
ejaculated  the  omnisignificant,  "  By  Jove  !  " 


250  Harvard  Stories. 

"  Are  you  going  in  again  ?  "  demanded 
Stoughton,  impatiently.  "  You  '11  tire  us  out. 
We  shall  do  this  thing  once  too  often,  the 
first  thing  you  know,  and  one  of  us  will  get 
stuck." 

"  You  fellows  need  n't  bother  about  relieving 
me  this  time,"  answered  Randolph,  graciously, 
and  off  he  went.  He  was  not  seen  again  during 
the  evening. 

"  That  is  what  I  call  rank  desertion,"  ex 
claimed  Dick,  in  disgust.  "  I  have  been  afraid 
all  along  he  'd  do  that.  The  beggar  uses  us  all 
day  until  she  turns  up,  then  we  can  shift  for 
ourselves. 

"  Treason,  treason  !  "  cried  Burleigh,  "  let  's 
follow  him  up  and  make  it  pleasant  for  him." 

"  No,"  growled  Dick,  "  let  these  squires  of 
dames  run  their  heads  into  the  yoke  if  they 
want  to.  Come  on,  old  man,  you  and  I  will 
stand  by  each  other,  anyway,  and  live  and  die 
free  men.  Let  's  strike  the  grub ;  that  Tree 
shindy  has  made  me  ravenous." 

But  the  "  grub  "  was  hard  to  "  strike."  Pale 
famine  threatened  over  the  lawn  of  Beck  Hall. 
There  was  a  surging  mass  around  the  table  in 
the  tent,  and  as  fast  as  a  dish  was  brought  in 


Harvard  Stories.  251 

(which  was  not  very  fast)  it  was  snapped  up  by 
the  foragers  with  cries  of  "  For  a  lady,  for  a 
lady."  There  was  little  hope  for  a  free  patriot 
guerilla  among  these  enthralled  commissaries 
of  the  conquerors. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Dick,  "  I  notice  the  dishes 
are  brought  out  of  that  door.  The  thing  for  us  to 
do  is  to  trace  these  waiters  up  to  their  source." 

They  followed  this  Stoughtonian  idea,  and 
worked  up  stream  against  the  waiters,  until  they 
arrived  at  the  fountain  of  supply  in  the  cellar 
of  the  Hall.  The  springs  were  very  nearly  ex 
hausted,  but  there  was  enough  salad  to  load 
two  plates.  A  demijohn  contained  one  glass- 
full  of  claret  punch.  For  this  they  matched, 
and  Dick  won  it.  Then  the  explorers  returned 
upstairs,  with  their  brilliantly  won  booty.  Just 
as  they  were  emerging  on  the  lawn,  Dick  ahead 
with  his  plate  in  one  hand  and  the  glass  in 
the  other,  they  heard  an  exclamation  of  "  Why, 
there  's  Mr.  Stoughton  !  "  A  huge  frigate  was 
bearing  right  down  upon  them,  with  all  sail  set, 
and  four  light  craft  in  tow ! 

Dick's  knees  shook  together,  and  with  a  look 
of  astonished  horror,  he  groaned,  "  Good  Lord! 
How  did  they  ever  get  here  ?  " 


252  Harvard  Stories. 

"  Quick  !  "  said  Burleigh  ;  "  give  me  the 
punch.  For  Heaven's  sake  save  that.  You  've 
got  to  take  your  hat  off.  Hang  it,  man,  where 
are  your  manners  ?  " 

In  his  confusion  Dick  handed  his  glass  to 
Ned,  and  bowed.  The  next  minute  the  enemy 
was  upon  him. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Stoughton,  I  'm  so  glad  we  Ve 
found  you.  You  must  be  surprised  to  see  us, 
are  n't  you  ?  So  good  of  you  to  ask  us.  I 
did  n't  expect  to  get  here,  but  the  girls  insisted 
that  they  could  not  miss  your  Class  Day.  So 
we  Ve  come  all  the  way  from  Omaha.  Think 
of  that !  You  are  the  only  friend  we  Ve  met. 
Oh  !  where  did  you  get  all  that  salad  ?  " 

"  Ah — er — delighted, — er — so  glad  you  could 
come,"  murmured  Dick.  "  Brought  the  whole 
family  too — this  is  awfully  jolly.  By-the-way, 
let  me  present  my  friend,  Mr.  Burleigh." 

Dick  turned  round  for  his  supporter.  Ed 
ward  was  gone ;  so  was  the  punch. 

Ned  Burleigh  fled  round  a  corner  seeking  a 
secluded  nook  that  he  had  marked  down  for 
emergencies.  His  intentions  were  perfectly 
loyal  ;  he  meant  to  return  and  succor  his  ally 
after  he  had  safely  disposed  of  the  food  and 


Harvard  Stories.  253 

liquid.  But  he  had  not  gone  a  dozen  steps  be 
fore  he  encountered  Steve  Hudson  with  a  weary 
look  in  his  eye.  That  organ  lit  up  when  it  fell 
on  the  stout  chum  and  his  burden. 

"  Oh,  Ned  !  where  did  you  get  it  ?  Give  it  to 
me." 

"  There  may  be  a  little  more  where  this  came 
from,"  answered  Ned,  sweetly. 

"  Give  it  to  me,  Ned.  I  want  it  for  my  mother. 
My  whole  family  is  starving  on  my  hands." 

"  Hum,"  said  Burleigh,  suspiciously.  "  I 
think  I  will  take  it  to  her  myself.  I  know  this 
*  fora  lady  '  dodge.  If  your  statement  is  true, 
I  want  the  credit  of  the  sacrifice." 

"  Good,"  exclaimed  Hudson,  the  weary  look 
passing  away  entirely.  "  Come  along.  My 
sister  has  been  disappointed  at  not  seeing  you 
all  day." 

The  sister's  alleged  disappointment  was  not 
relieved,  for  she  was  not  with  the  family  at  all. 
Two  or  three  aunts  and  a  pig-tailed  cousin  were. 
While  Burleigh  was  yielding  up  his  hard-earned 
spoils  with  a  hollow,  a  very  hollow  grace,  and 
receiving  thanks,  Steve  Hudson  disappeared, 
saying  he  would  be  back  in  a  moment. 

The  pale,  beseeching  face  of  Dick,  languish- 


254  Harvard  Stories. 

ing  among  five  women,  rose  before  Ned's  vision  ; 
but  this  was  no  time  to  think  of  his  comrade  ; — 
he  had  to  forage  ice-cream  for  the  aunts.  Then 
he  had  to  get  some  water ;  then  he  had  to  look 
for  the  escaped  daughter,  an  unsuccessful  quest. 
("It's  too  bad  to  trouble  you  this  way,  Mr. 
Burleigh  " )  ;  then  he  had  to  round  up  two 
small  boys.  (  "  The  boys  have  no  business 
here,  I  know,  but  they  begged  so  hard  to 
come " ) ;  then  he  had  to  take  the  pig-tail 
round  the  Yard  ;  then  more  water  ("  Oh,  if 
you  could  get  some  Apollinaris  ") ;  Apollinaris ; 
then  he  had  to  order  the  carriage  ("  Where  can 
Steve  be?  We  can't  go  away  without  saying 
good-by  to  the  boy,  and  telling  him  what  a 
good  time  we  have  had  ")  ;  then  he  had  to  put 
off  the  carriage ;  etc,  etc,  etc.  And  thus  fell 
the  last  of  the  Amalgamated  Seniors  ! 


The  carriages  were  beginning  to  leave. 
Ernest  Gray  got  his  family  off  among  the  first, 
and  then  went  on  a  search. 

He  looked  everywhere,  as  far  as  the  outlying 
spread  at  the  Agassiz  ;  but  unsuccessfully.  He 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  Class  Day  was 


Harvard  Stories.  255 

about  over,  and  began  to  think  that  it  was  not 
so  merry  as  he  had  always  thought  it  before. 
As  he  strolled  back  over  the  Delta,  it  occurred 
to  him  that  he  would  not  cross  the  old  historic 
battle-ground  often  again — if  at  all.  Memorial 
Hall  was  brightly  illuminated.  The  light  shone 
through  the  stained-glass  windows,  and  showed 
the  array  of  those  who  had  done  their  duty. 
The  window  of  '61  caught  his  eye  most  plainly. 
On  the  one  half  was  a  student  listening  to  the 
trumpet,  on  the  other  he  was  going  forth  full 
armed.  Over  the  Senior's  head,  the  calm  face 
of  the  Founder  looked  through  the  night  into 
the  West, — into  the  West,  where  spread  the 
nation. 

He  did  not  go  through  the  Yard,  he  walked 
slowly  along  behind  it.  He  heard  the  sound 
of  music,  and  between  the  buildings  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  enchanted  quadrangle,  the  last 
bright  transformation  scene  before  the  drop  of 
the  curtain.  He  wandered  on  and  beneath  a 
well-known  window  looked  up,  perhaps  from 
force  of  habit.  Then  he  stopped,  for,  though 
the  open  window  was  dark,  he  thought  he  saw 
a  form  in  it.  He  went  up-stairs  and  knocked  at 
the  door.  "  Come  in,"  said  Jack  Rattleton's 


256  Harvard  Stories. 

voice.  The  room  was  unlit,  and  Jack  was  sit 
ting  in  the  window-seat  with  his  dog. 

"  Hello,  old  man/'  said  Gray.  "  I  have  n't 
seen  you  since  the  Tree.  Have  you  been  up 
here  by  yourself  all  the  evening  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  see,"  drawled  Jack.  "  Blathers 
was  up  here  all  alone,  and  I  thought  I  'd  sit 
with  him  a  little  while.  I  can  amuse  him  better 
than  I  can  a  girl,  you  know." 

Gray  walked  over  to  him,  and  for  a  longtime 
the  two  men  of  opposite  natures  looked  silently 
out  of  the  window  together.  Below,  they  could 
see  the  Japanese  lanterns,  the  white  dresses, 
and  all  the  gay  throng — they  could  see  them, 
but  they  did  n't.  They  saw,  above  the  elms, 
the  belfry  of  Harvard  Hall  against  the  clear 
night  sky.  They  saw  the  familiar  outlines  of 
the  dark  roofs  and  spires.  Over  all,  they  saw 
the  tower  of  Memorial  pointing  to  the  stars. 
Up  from  the  Yard  floated,  distinctly,  the 
measures  of  the  Anthem. 

"  Thou  then  wert  our  Mother,  the  nurse  of  our  souls 

We  were  moulded  to  manhood  by  thee, 
Till  freighted  with  treasures,  life  friendships  and  hopes, 
Thou  didst  launch  us  on  Destiny's  sea." 


HOW  RIVERS'  LUCK  TURNED. 


I. 

"  WELL,  it  does  concern  me,  because  I  don't 
want  any  love-sick  invalids  in  that  boat."  Thus 
spake  the  practical  William  Bender,  Esq.,  Cap 
tain  of  the  H.  U.  Crew.  He  had  just  come 
into  Hollis  Holworthy's  room  and  sat  down 
for  a  few  minutes'  private  conversation  with 
that  gentleman.  By  a  simple  method  of  his, 
he  had  come  to  the  point  of  the  interview  in 
the  opening  question,  "  Look  here,  Hoi,  is 
Charlie  Rivers  in  love?"  Holworthy,  some 
what  startled,  had  replied  that  his  chum's 
affairs  were  not  his,  and  intimated  that  he 
could  not  see  how  they  belonged  to  Bender 
either.  Hence  the  above  remark. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  think,"  he  continued, 
"  that  I  am  merely  inquisitive  and  impertinent  ; 
but  you  see  I  am  responsible  for  the  condition 
of  the  men,  and  if  anything  of  that  sort  is  going 
on  I  ought  to  know  it.  Last  year  I  had  one 
17  257 


2  5  &  ^#  ^z>#  r d  Stories. 

man  in  the  boat  who  was  engaged,  and  two  who 
wanted  to  be,  and  I  never  knew  anything  about 
it  until  after  the  race.  Jim  Lovell,  who  had 
precious  little  money  himself,  was  engaged,  to  a 
girl  without  a  cent,  and  all  the  spring  he  was 
thinking  about  the  price  of  beef  when  he  ought 
to  have  been  watching  the  man  in  front  of  him 
and  improving  his  recover.  As  for  Randal  and 
Bowers  they  had  no  right  to  be  in  the  boat. 
They  were  all  out  of  condition,  and  I  don't  see 
now  how  we  won.  Even  at  New  London,  just 
before  the  race,  those  two  men  were  moping 
like  a  pair  of  sick  pointers.  They  were  off 
their  feed  and  so  blue  that  they  made  every 
body  else  so.  I  was  scared  to  death,  thought 
they  were  overtrained,  and  laid  them  off  several 
times  though  they  needed  all  the  practice  they 
could  get.  I  let  them  fill  themselves  up  with 
Bass,  nearly  a  pint  a  day.  Nothing  did  any 
good,  and  I  never  knew  what  to  make  of  it 
until  last  summer  when  the  engagements  of 
both  were  announced.  Bah  !  no  wonder  the 
starboard  side  was  weak." 

"  Well,  I  have  heard  you  rowing  men  growl 
about  almost  everything,"  laughed  Holworthy, 
"but  this  is  a  new  complaint.  So  Dan  Cupid 


Harvard  Stories.  259 

played  the  mischief  with  the  Harvard  crew,  did 
he?  I  should  n't  think  the  little  winged  god 
would  make  such  a  heavy  passenger  in  the 
boat.  Think  how  much  harder  his  victims 
must  pull  when  their  fair  ladies'  eyes  are  upon 
them.  Why,  it  is  quite  like  wearing  a  silken 
scarf  at  a  tournament." 

"  Wearing  grandmother's  ducks.  That  is 
just  all  they  know  about  such  things,  the  chaps 
who  write  novels.  No  amount  of  ladies'  eyes 
or  wearing  apparel  ever  pulled  Sir  Launcelot 
through  a  mill,  if  he  was  n't  properly  trained 
for  it." 

"  You  have  no  poetry  in  your  soul,  you  old 
monk  ;  your  heart  is  as  hard  as  your  muscles," 
replied  Hollis,  smiling.  "  Wait  until  you  get 
an  arrow  yourself,  and  see  what  a  spirit  it  will 
put  in  you.  Why,  you  will  conquer  anything." 

"  That  is  all  nonsense,'  declared  Bender. 
"  Every  man  on  that  crew  will  pull  his  best, 
anyway,  don't  you  be  afraid  about  that ;  but 
his  best  won't  amount  to  much  if  he  spends  all 
his  time  worrying  about  some  pink  and  white 
girl.  I  think  I  know  the  symptoms  of  the 
disease  now,  and  what  is  more  I  think  Charlie 
Rivers  has  it.  Thank  goodness  he  sticks  to 


260  Harvard  Stories. 

his  beef  yet,  and  seems  to  pull  as  strong  an  oar 
as  ever  ;  but  there  is  something  wrong.  He 
used  to  be  the  jolliest  old  cock  in  college,  and 
bright  and  quick  as  a  steel  trap.  Now  he 
hardly  talks  at  all  at  the  training  table,  and 
when  he  does  make  a  joke  it  is  usually  stupid. 
You  're  his  room-mate  and  best  friend,  and  you 
must  know  what  is  up.  Of  course  I  don't  ask 
you  to  betray  any  confidence,  and  if  he  has 
been  spilling  over  to  you,  you  are  quite  right  in 
telling  me  that  it  is  none  of  my  business.  But 
if  you  have  diagnosed  his  case  for  yourself,  I 
wish  you  would  tell  me  frankly  what  you  think 
about  it." 

"  If  Charlie  is  in  love  he  has  never  told  me 
so,"  Holworthy  answered  rather  evasively.  "  I 
do  know,  however,  that  he  has  had  a  great 
many  things  to  depress  him.  His  father  died 
last  winter,  you  remember,  and  of  course  that 
was  enough  to  make  him  blue.  Then  he  has 
very  little  money,  and  is  uncertain  about  get 
ting  any  sort  of  a  good  job  when  he  graduates, 
and  he  is  worrying  over  that.  He  will  proba 
bly  brace  up  after  a  while.  I  hope  you  won't  fire 
him  off  the  crew,  for  it  would  break  his  heart." 

"  Well,  you  know,  Holly,  it  would  break  mine 


Harvard  Stories.  2  6 1 

too,"  said  Bender.  "  Charlie  has  always  played 
in  awfully  hard  luck,  and  he  certainly  deserves 
another  chance  to  win  his  oar,  and  a  red  one  at 
that ;  but,  of  course,  I  can't  keep  him  in  the 
boat  out  of  personal  friendship  and  admiration, 
if  he  is  not  fit  to  row.  I  don't  think  there  is 
any  danger  of  that  yet,  however.  He  is  still 
the  prettiest  oar  I  have  ever  seen,  and  surely 
no  one  could  work  more  conscientiously." 

"  He  is  a  great  deal  too  conscientious.  It 
would  do  him  good  to  break  training  once  in  a 
while,"  asserted  Hollis.  "  You  ought  to  let  a 
man  in  his  condition  smoke,  anyway." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  objected  the 
Tory  oarsman.  "  I  hope  you  will  do  your  best 
to  cheer  him  up,  though  ;  and,  especially,  if  you 
find  out  that  any  girl  has  got  him  on  a  string, 
talk  him  out  of  it  and  clear  his  mind." 

"  Oh,  thou  untamed  Hercules,"  replied  Hoi- 
worthy,  laughing  at  this  last  simple  request. 
"  I  suppose  you  think  you  could  snap  such  a 
string  as  you  can  an  oar.  When  Omphale  ties 
you  up  in  her  yarn,  you  won't  find  it  so  easy  to 
break." 

"  Well,  I  hope  old  Rivers  is  not  snarled  up 
in  any  such  tackle,"  said  Bender,  as  he  rose  to 


262  Harvard  Stories. 

go.  "  After  all,  though,  I  believe  I  would 
rather  have  him  in  the  middle  of  the  boat  than 
any  other  man  in  the  University,— even  if  he 
were  in  love  with  twenty  girls."  And  with  this 
acknowledgment  in  spite  of  such  Mohammedan 
possibilities,  Billy  Bender  went  off  to  the  river. 

As  Bender  had  said,  Charles  Rivers  had  been 
"  playing  in  hard  luck."  Though  a  splendid 
oarsman  he  had  never  won  a  race.  In  his 
Freshman  year  he  had  been  taken  out  of  his 
class  crew  to  be  a  substitute  for  the  University 
eight.  The  next  year  he  rowed  No.  4  on  the 
'Varsity  ;  but  Yale  won.  He  filled  the  same 
place  all  through  his  Junior  year,  until  a  week 
before  the  race,  when  he  sprained  his  heel  and 
had  to  sit  in  the  referee's  launch  and  watch  his 
comrades  get  their  revenge  on  the  Blue.  This 
year  was  his  last,  and  he  had  begun  training, 
even  with  the  new  men,  before  Christmas. 

Few  people  realize  through  what  a  man  must 
go  who  tries  for  a  university  crew.  Even  those 
who  have  been  to  the  rowing  colleges  cannot 
fully  appreciate  it  unless  they  have  themselves 
trained  with  the  big  crew,  or  been  closely 
associated  with  some  man  who  has  done  so. 
True,  it  is  only  to  lead  a  very  regular  abstemi- 


Harvard  Stories.  263 

ous  life,  and  to  do  a  good  deal  of  healthful, 
though  hard  work.  It  may  seem  easy  to  do 
this  for  seven  months — perhaps  it  is  so  for  those 
superior  to  the  little  vices  that  make  life  pleasant 
for  us  weaker  ones.  But  you,  my  friend,  who 
like  a  good  dinner  and  a  cigar,  and  the  merry 
company  of  your  fellow-men,  you  try  it, — par 
ticularly  if  you  are  living  in  the  midst  of  men 
who  are  enjoying  their  youth  to  its  utmost. 
Leave  them  before  ten  o'clock  and  go  to  bed 
just  as  Tom  is  preparing  to  make  a  Welsh  rare 
bit,  and  Dick  is  brewing  a  punch,  and  Harry 
has  got  out  his  banjo.  Gaze  day  after  day  on 
your  favorite  pipes  that  look  beseechingly  at 
you  from  the  mantel-piece.  Run  five  miles 
every  day,  and  row  ten  or  fifteen  while  the 
coach  and  coxswain  take  turns  at  telling  you 
how  utterly  useless  you  are ;  then  try  to  study 
all  the  evening  for  an  examination.  Watch 
your  friends  starting  off  without  you  on  moon 
light  sleigh  rides,  and  theatre  sprees,  and  yacht 
ing  and  coaching  parties.  Go  to  a  dinner  and 
refuse  everything  indigestibly  tempting  that  is 
put  under  your  nose,  look  on  the  wine  when  it 
is  red  and  don't  drink  it,  and  smell  the  other 
men's  cigars.  For  six  or  seven  months  out  of 


264  Harvard  Stories. 

the  nine  of  a  college  year  he  must  do  all  this 
who  would  be  one  of  the  'Varsity  Eight  ;  and 
at  the  end  of  the  seven  months  he  may  be 
appointed  substitute,  or  thrown  off  altogether 
for  a  better  man.  No  doubt  it  is  quite  wrong 
to  consider  such  a  proper  mode  of  life  as  a 
sacrifice ;  nevertheless  it  is  a  great  one  to  most 
of  the  young  men  who  go  through  it,  and  par 
ticularly  to  such  a  one  as  Rivers.  Yet  this 
sacrifice  he  had  made  all  through  his  college 
course. 

But  hard  as  the  training  is  to  a  man  in  the 
full  flush  of  health  and  spirits,  it  is  ten  times 
harder  to  one  who  is  troubled  and  depressed. 
When  in  such  a  condition  the  incessant  and 
monotonous  exercise  is  apt  to  wear  on  his 
nerves,  and  make  him  more  despondent.  If 
used  to  tobacco  he  wofully  misses  the  great 
comforter.  So  poor  Charlie  found  it,  for  in 
this,  his  Senior  year,  one  thing  happened  after 
another  to  grieve  and  worry  him.  In  the  win 
ter  his  father  died,  and  Rivers  keenly  felt  the 
loss,  for  his  father  had  been  his  best  friend. 
Added  to  his  natural  grief  was  a  new  feeling  of 
responsibility,  as  though  left  to  fight  a  battle 
unsupported,  his  reserves  having  been  de- 


Harva rd  Stories.  265 

stroyed.  On  his  own  account  he  would  not 
have  been  troubled  by  this,  but  a  young  sister 
had  been  left  to  him — and  very  little  else.  He 
would  have  left  college  at  once,  but  it  had  been 
his  father's  earnest  wish  that  he  should  take 
his  degree,  and  there  was  little  chance  of  find 
ing  anything  to  do  before  Commencement.  So 
the  little  sister  was  quartered  with  an  aunt, 
and  Rivers  came  back  to  Cambridge,  and  went 
to  work  again  with  the  crew.  The  training  wore 
on  him  more  than  ever  before.  He  did  not 
miss  the  fun  that  was  going  on  around  him, 
but,  oh!  how  he  did  long  for  his  pipe.  He 
kept  grimly  on,  however,  more  with  the  deter 
mination  of  the  man  (trivial  though  the  object 
may  seem)  than  with  the  former  enthusiasm  of 
the  boy.  Holworthy  used  to  do  his  best  in  the 
evenings  to  lighten  his  chum's  mood,  and  never 
smoked  himself  when  the  latter  was  with  him. 
Besides  these  troubles,  Hollis  strongly  sus 
pected  that  there  was  another ;  he  had  not 
been  altogether  frank  with  Bender  on  the  sub 
ject.  One  day  some  one  and  her  mother  came 
on  to  Boston  for  a  fortnight,  and  Rivers  at  the 
same  time  became  bluer  and  more  restless  than 
ever.  He  put  all  his  pipes  out  of  sight,  and 


266  Harvard  Stories. 

would  tramp  up  and  down  the  room,  or  sit  and 
look  into  the  fire  for  an  hour  at  a  time.  Never 
theless  he  would  go  into  Boston  nearly  every 
day,  and  get  back  only  just  in  time  for  crew 
practice. 

When  some  one  and  her  mother  came  out  to 
see  Cambridge,  a  luncheon  had  to  be  given  in 
the  room.  There  was  the  usual  borrowing  of 
furniture,  ruthless  clearing  up,  and  upsetting 
of  all  established  disorder  in  the  room,  all  of 
which  Holworthy  suffered  in  silence.  He 
watched  his  patient  narrowly  all  through  lunch ; 
but  when  they  went  out  to  see  the  lions,  he  no 
longer  had  any  doubt  about  the  case.  For 
Rivers  took  Mamma,  leaving  Hollis  to  convoy 
the  younger  craft. 

Before  the  two  weeks  were  up,  Rivers  did  a 
very  foolish  thing.  He  came  to  the  conclusion 
that,  in  any  event,  hell  would  be  better  than 
purgatory.  That  was  of  course  illogical,  but  a 
man  in  purgatory  is  not  logical.  Furthermore 
when  he  makes  up  his  mind  to  jump  out  of 
that  middle  place,  he  shuts  his  eyes  and  always 
hopes,  with  or  without  reason,  that  he  will  not 
go  the  wrong  way.  If  he  were  in  a  comfortable 
state  and  could  reason  at  his  ease,  he  might  not 


Harvard  Stories.  267 

delude  himself  with  unfounded  hope.  Charlie 
Rivers  thought  he  had  argued  coolly  with  him 
self.  To  the  prospect  of  his  responsibilities 
and  narrow  means,  he  answered  that  he  had 
strength,  energy,  and  education,  and  that  his 
little  sister  needed  more  than  money.  To  the 
cold  reflection  that  he  had  never  been  shown 
the  slightest  glimpse  of  anything  more  than 
the  dictates  of  natural  gentleness  and  good 
manners,  he  replied  that  perhaps  it  was  not 
right  for  a  girl  to  show  more  until  a  man  told 
her  that  he  loved  her.  At  any  rate  he  would 
not  trust  his  untutored  perceptions  to  tell 
whether  she  cared  anything  for  him  or  not ; 
the  only  way  was  to  ask  her  and  find  out.  If 
he  was  afraid  to  do  so  he  was  a  coward  and  did 
not  deserve  her.  Then  he  argued  himself  into 
the  idea  that  it  was  his  duty  to  tell  her  squarely 
how  he  stood,  and  give  her  the  opportunity  to 
send  him  away  if  she  so  pleased  and  put  a  stop 
to  attentions  that  might  be  irksome  to  her. 
This  was  all  very  silly  and  boyish.  If  he  had 
known  all  about  such  things,  as  of  course  do  you 
and  I  who  read  and  write  about  them,  he  "would 
have  spent  that  Sunday,  on  which  there  was  no 
rowing,  in  his  room,  reading  Thackeray,  or  gone 


268  Harvard  Stories. 

out  with  Rattleton  and  Holworthy  in  the 
former's  dog-cart,  as  he  was  asked  to  do.  In 
stead  of  either  of  these  safe  and  normal  Sab 
bath  amusements,  he  hurried  away  from  his 
untasted  lunch  at  the  training-table  (making 
Bender's  blood  run  cold  by  showing  that  he 
was  "  off  his  feed  "),  spent  an  hour  in  dressing, 
and  then  went  in  to  Boston. 

That  afternoon  as  Holworthy  and  Jack 
Rattleton  were  driving  through  a  suburb  of 
Boston,  they  saw  walking  ahead  of  them  a  big, 
familiar  form,  towering  beside  another  form  of 
very  different  proportions.  Rattleton  laid  the 
whip  over  his  horse  and  went  by  the  couple  at 
a  pace  that  precluded  any  sign  of  recognition. 
Holworthy  was  as  much  surprised  as  pleased 
at  this  thoughtful  act  on  Rattleton's  part ;  and 
concluded  that  he  must  in  some  way  have 
guessed  that  things  were  serious  with  Rivers, 
and  no  subject  for  teasing.  Nor  did  Jack  say 
a  word  about  the  pair  of  pedestrians,  or  hint 
that  he  had  recognized  Rivers,  which  reticence 
confirmed  Holworthy's  conclusion.  On  this 
drive  Rattleton  did  not  talk  a  great  deal  about 
anything.  He  had  been  quite  despondent 
lately  and  unlike  himself,  probably  on  account 


Harvard  Stories.  269 

of  the  uncertainty  of  his  Commencement, 
though  the  dreaded  end  of  Senior  year  was 
still  a  good  way  off  by  Jack's  ordinary  compu 
tation.  On  two  evenings  within  that  past  week 
had  he  been  found  in  his  room,  "  grinding"  for 
that  degree,  when  the  examinations  were  still 
two  months  away. 

It  was  dark  when  they  got  back  to  Cambridge, 
and  went  up  to  Holworthy's  room  to  sit  until 
dinner-time.  There  was  a  dark  mass  on  the 
couch,  and  when  they  lit  the  gas  they  saw 
Rivers.  The  young  giant  was  lying  on  his 
chest,  his  great  arms  over  his  head  and  his  face 
in  the  cushions. 

"The  old  boy  is  over-trained  and  tired," 
whispered  Rattleton.  "  I  had  better  clear  out 
and  not  waken  him,"  and  he  left  the  room. 

Had  Jack  recognized  Rivers  that  afternoon  or 
not  ?  wondered  Holworthy.  He  hoped  not.  He 
turned  the  light  out  again,  not  knowing  exactly 
why.  Then,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  he 
went  up  and  laid  his  hand  gently  on  the  shoul 
der  of  his  prostrate  room-mate.  Let  us  not 
turn  the  gas  up  again  on  those  two.  We  will 
go  down-stairs  instead  with  Jack  Rattleton. 

As  he  closed  the  door  gently  after  him  Jack 


2  70  Harvard  Stories. 

gave  a  little  low  whistle.  Then  he  went  slowly 
down-stairs  and  into  the  Yard,  followed  by  the 
dog,  Blathers.  "  Come  along,  pup,"  he  said  to 
his  constant  companion  ;  "  let 's  go  take  a 
walk."  He  walked  a  long  way  and  came  back 
to  his  club  table  rather  late  for  dinner. 

Holworthy  was  late,  too.  As  they  were 
smoking  with  their  coffee,  the  other  men  having 
gone,  Rattleton  asked  if  Rivers  was  not  getting 
"  stale  "  from  his  training. 

"  I  think  so,  decidedly,"  answered  Hollis.  "  I 
have  spoken  to  Bender  about  it,  but  he  is  such 
a  conservative  old  martinet  that  he  won't  break 
any  of  the  canons  of  training  until  he  is  satis 
fied  that  a  man  is  going  into  a  rapid  decline.  I 
know  a  cigar  once  in  a  while  would  do  Charlie 
more  good  than  harm,  but  I  can't  make  the 
conscientious  beggar  steal  a  smoke  without  per 
mission  from  his  tyrant.  He  is  blue  as  indigo." 

"Is  he  troubled  about  money  matters?" 
asked  Rattleton,  hesitatingly  coming  now  to 
what  he  wanted  to  find  out.  "  Did  n't  his 
father  leave  him  rather  hard  up  ?  Excuse  my 
asking,  but  I  thought  we  might  help  him  to  find 
something  to  do,  don't  you  know." 

"  That  is  a  great  deal  of  the  matter  with  him," 


Harvard  Stories.  2  7 1 

answered  Holworthy,  glad  to  see  the  tack  on 
which  Jack  was  steering.  "  You  need  n't  apolo 
gize  for  asking  about  it.  I  wish  to  thunder  we 
could  find  him  a  job.  He  is  worrying  all  the 
time  about  what  he  is  going  to  do  after  leaving 
college." 

That  night  Rattleton  wrote  a  letter  to  his 
father,  who  was  president  of  a  big  corporation. 

From  this  time  on  Rivers  seemed  to  brace  up 
in  his  mental,  and  consequently  in  his  physical 
condition.  This  apparent  improvement,  how 
ever,  did  not  deceive  Holworthy,  who  saw  that 
it  was,  in  a  way,  unhealthy.  Rivers  had  kept 
at  his  rowing  and  training  patiently  and  dog 
gedly  before  ;  but  he  now  threw  himself  into 
it  heart  and  soul  as  a  distraction.  He  dreamed 
of  the  coming  race  night  and  day.  He  tried 
his  best  to  seem  cheerful  and  encourage  the 
other  men,  and  his  plucky  efforts  succeeded  very 
well.  Bender  was  delighted,  declared  there  was 
nothing  like  faithful  training  to  keep  a  man  in 
proper  shape,  body  and  mind,  unless  he  was 
fool  enough  to  fall  in  love,  and  concluded  that 
he  had  suspected  Rivers  unjustly  on  that  score. 

The  latter  showed  every  now  and  then  to  his 
chum  the  intensity,  almost  fierceness,  that  lay 


272  Harvard  Stories. 

under  this  apparently  happy  enthusiasm.  One 
day  he  said  that  he  must  make  a  success  of  at 
least  one  thing  before  leaving  college,  and  if  that 
race  were  lost  he  should  feel  as  though  he  were 
going  to  fail  in  everything  he  undertook  all 
through  life.  Then  Mentor  Holworthy  opened 
on  him  with  all  his  batteries.  He  told  him  that 
he  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  make  such  a  mere 
sport  the  test  of  his  life ;  he  descanted  hotly  on 
the  subject  of  the  athletic  fever,  and  laughed 
scornfully  at  the  fancied  importance  of  such 
intercollegiate  contests. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  he,  "  that  Hancock  and 
Adams  and  Emerson  and  Longfellow  and  all 
the  rest  of  them  will  sleep  more  peacefully  in 
their  graves  if  we  beat  Yale,  and  if  we  get 
thrashed  no  doubt  old  Dr.  Holmes  will  be  sorry 
he  ever  came  to  Cambridge,  and  will  at  once  go 
down  to  New  Haven  to  take  his  entrance  exam 
ination  for  the  Freshman  class  there.  Have  n't 
you  grown  up  yet,  that  you  look  on  these 
things  as  a  school  boy?  These  overwrought 
struggles  can  do  good  in  just  one  way,  and  you 
seem  ready  now  to  throw  away  even  that  ad 
vantage.  Every  time  a  thoroughbred  gets  licked 
it  does  him  good.  You  have  seen  the  men  on 


Harvard  Stories.  273 

our  different  teams  get  up  after  a  thrashing  and 
go  at  it  as  hard  as  ever  the  next  year  ;  you  have 
yourself  gone  through  a  splendid  school  of 
defeat  and  disappointment,  yet  now  you  talk 
about  lying  down  for  all  your  lifetime  if  you 
lose  a  boat-race.  It  is  true  you  cannot  row 
against  Yale  again,  but  there  is  a  bigger  victory 
than  that  to  be  won.  Have  you  for  the  first 
time  lost  all  your  heart  after  a  failure  ?  You  of 
all  men  should  not  need  to  be  told  that  a  prize 
is  never  lost  until  won.  At  any  rate  lay  up  in 
reserve  for  yourself  the  consolation  of  having 
done  your  best.  Charley,  Charley,  if  you  throw 
up  the  sponge  after  one  knockdown,  you  are  not 
the  man  I  have  always  thought  you." 

Rivers  listened  to  all  this,  with  head  bent. 
When  Hollis  stopped  he  raised  his  face  again 
and  said  :  "  I  know  what  you  mean,  old  man, 
and  you  are  right.  I  won't  lie  down  like  a  cur. 
I  '11  pull  it  through  to  the  finish,  anyway. 
But  in  the  meantime  I  must  do  like  a  man 
whatever  I  have  taken  up." 

"  Now  you  are  talking  like  your  old  self," 
answered  Hollis,  "  but  don't  forget  that  doing 
your  duty  like  a  gentleman  is  not  confined  to 
rowing  a  boat-race." 

18 


2  74  Harvard  Stories. 

After  this  broadside  Rivers  went  on  with  his 
rowing  in  a  better  spirit  than  he  had  shown 
during  that  year.  Before  long  he  was  immensely 
cheered  up  also  by  the  promise  of  a  position 
with  a  good  salary  and  chance  of  advancement, 
that  was  to  be  ready  for  him  right  after  the 
boat-race.  Jack  Rattleton,  through  his  father, 
had  succeeded  in  getting  this  for  him.  His 
absorbing  devotion  to  his  rowing  fortunately 
did  not  prevent  him  from  getting  his  degree 
but  he  lost  a  cum  laude  and  had  to  "  take  his 
A.B.  straight,"  as  Burleigh  said,  "  without  any 
green  leaves  or  nutmeg  in  it." 

There  was  another  piece  of  parchment  made 
out  for  Commencement  Day,  that  was  a  sur 
prise  to  every  one.  It  was  marked  Johannes 
Rattleton. 

II. 

Class  Day  and  Commencement  were  over, 
and  every  one  was  now  bound  for  New  London 
to  attend  the  post-Commencement  carnival  that, 
for  the  undergraduate  at  least,  really  winds  up 
the  college  year.  The  crew  had  gone  down  to 
their  quarters  at  Gale's  Ferry  two  weeks  before; 
there  had  been  no  Class  Day  for  them.  The 


Harvard  Stories.  275 

faithful  flocked  to  the  Thames'  mouth  in  squads 
and  divisions,  and  by  all  sorts  of  methods,  some 
in  big  yachts,  some  in  cat-boats,  others  on 
coaches,  but  most  by  train  at  special  rates,  for 
the  undergraduate  is  usually  not  rolling  in 
wealth,  particularly  at  the  end  of  June.  The 
fresh  graduate  who  has  just  paid  his  Commence 
ment  bills  is  still  less  apt  to  do  any  coaching  or 
yachting  except  by  invitation. 

Dick  Stoughton  however  had  a  small  sloop, 
and  he  and  his  friends  had  decided  that  the 
cruise  would  not  "  break  "  them,  and  at  any 
rate  that  they  would  make  it  whether  it  broke 
them  or  not.  It  would  be  cheaper  to  live 
aboard,  they  argued  very  plausibly,  than  to  get 
swindled  by  New  London  hotel-keepers.  They 
would  refrain  from  betting  on  the  race  ;  then  if 
Yale  won  they  would  be  no  worse  off  financially, 
and  if  the  Crimson  went  to  the  front  they  would 
not  spend  twice  their  winnings  on  the  spot,  as 
they  would  be  sure  to  do  if  they  bet.  This  was 
a  highly  praiseworthy  resolution,  and  of  course 
the  most  sensible  way  of  looking  at  the  folly 
of  betting.  Burleigh  said  it  was  easy  enough 
to  look  at  anything  sensibly.  They  would  go, 
then,  on  Dick's  sloop,  and  they  would  not  bet  a 


2  76  Harvard  Stories. 

cent.  They  went  on  the  sloop.  The  party  was 
made  up  of  Stoughton,  Hudson,  Randolph, 
Burleigh,  and  Gray.  Holworthy  did  not  go ; 
he  had  taken  a  room  in  New  London  at  the 
Pequot  House,  and  went  there  immediately 
after  Class  Day,  as  he  wanted  to  see  all  he  could 
of  Rivers  at  the  quarters.  Strange  to  say,  Jack 
Rattleton  also  refused  all  persuasion  to  join  his 
friends  on  the  cruise.  In  vain  did  Ned  Bur 
leigh,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  assure  him  that  it 
would  be  the  last  and  most  beautiful  "  toot " 
of  his  college  course.  Jack  advanced  several 
good  but  utterly  insufficient  and  unnatural 
reasons  for  "  shaking  the  gang."  Ned  exhorted 
him  more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger. 

"What  has  got  into  you  lately? "he  asked 
anxiously.  "  That  sheepskin  seems  to  have 
ruined  you.  I  actually  believe  you  have  re 
formed,  or  have  caught  a  premature  aim  in  life, 
or  some  such  fatal  disease.  You  were  a  great 
deal  better  fellow  when  you  were  Lazy  Jack 
and  did  n't  amount  to  a  row  of  pins  ;  John  Rat 
tleton,  Esq.,  A.B.,  is  a  bore.  You  strained 
yourself  badly  for  those  letters,  and  are  run 
down  in  consequence.  Hang  it  all,  Jack,  come 
along,  it  will  do  you  good." 


Harvard  Stories.  277 

But  Rattleton  did  not  go  along.  He  hung 
around  Cambridge  until  the  day  before  the  race, 
and  then  joined  Hollis  at  the  Pequot  House. 
Capt.  Stoughton's  craft  had  arrived  safely,  not 
withstanding  her  crew,  and  was  anchored  in  the 
river  with  the  rest  of  the  fleet  in  front  of  the 
hotel,  when  Rattleton  got  there. 

The  night  before  the  boat-race  at  New 
London  is  one  that  bears  recollection  better 
than  description.  The  Pequot  House  is  usually 
the  centre  of  ceremonies.  Crowds  of  men  are 
down  from  Cambridge,  and  there  are  a  few  of 
the  advance-guard  from  New  Haven,  although 
most  of  the  Yale  men  come  next  morning. 
Lectures  and  examinations  are  behind  them, 
the  long  vacation  is  ahead  ;  it  is  the  last  spree  of 
the  year,  the  last  gathering  of  the  four  years  for 
the  Seniors, — and  full  justice  is  usually  done  the 
occasion.  Many  a  grad.,  too,  runs  away  from 
his  office  to  the  Connecticut  town,  or  comes 
ashore  there  from  his  yacht,  to  renew  his  youth 
on  the  eve  of  battle  and  to  shout  at  the  struggle 
on  the  morrow. 

Of  course  on  that  evening  the  party  from 
Stoughton's  boat  were  ashore,  and  in  the  thick 
of  it.  Ned  Burleigh  was  master  of  ceremonies, 


2  78  Harvard  Stories. 

and  organized  a  band  of  "  cheerful  workers." 
Holworthy,  however,  kept  out  of  it.  He  was 
thinking  of  eight  men  up  the  river,  five  or  six 
miles  away  from  all  this  roystering,  and  of  one 
big  man  in  particular,  whose  whole  soul,  like 
his  muscles,  was  strung  up  for  the  next  day. 
He  wondered  whether  Rivers  was  getting  any 
sleep,  and  the  anxiety  about  his  best  friend  left 
him  little  heart  to  rollick  with  the  others.  He 
was  surprised  to  find  Rattleton  in  much  the 
same  mood,  for  notwithstanding  the  recent 
change  in  that  young  gentleman,  it  seemed 
hardly  possible  that  Jack  could  sulk  in  his  tent 
at  such  a  time  as  this.  The  two,  with  the  dog 
Blathers,  walked  out  together  on  the  piazza. 

As  they  turned  a  corner  of  the  veranda  they 
saw  sitting  in  the  light  of  a  window  two 
feminine  figures,  one  of  which  Holworthy  at 
once  recognized. 

"  By  Jove!"  he  thought  to  himself;  "has 
she  come  down  to  see  that  man  kill  himself,  or 
does  she  really  want  to  see  him  win  ?  "  Then 
he  growled  to  Rattleton,  "  This  is  a  nice  place 
for  a  girl  on  this  evening,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

Rattleton  had  stopped  short.  "  Look  here," 
he  said,  "  you  go  warn  those  Comanches,  and 


Harvard  Stories.  2  79 

keep  them  in  bounds.  I  am  going  to  talk  to 
her." 

"Why,  do  you  know  her?"  queried  Hollis 
a  little  surprised. 

"  Oh,  yes, — slightly, — well  enough  to  speak 
to.  You  go  along." 

Holworthy  went  to  the  back  of  the  hotel, 
and  Jack  towards  the  two  ladies. 

"  Why,  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Rattleton,"  said 
the  younger  one,  as  he  came  up  and  bowed. 
"  Let  me  present  you  to  my  aunt,  Mrs.  West." 

"  Are  you  staying  in  the  hotel  ?  "  asked  Jack 
after  the  opening  salutations.  Just  at  this 
moment  he  heard,  from  the  direction  of  the 
billiard-room,  the  silvery  voice  of  Mr.  Edward 
Burleigh,  leading  the  cheerful  workers  in  the 
strains  of  a  hymn.  He  was  greatly  relieved 
when  Mrs.  West  answered,  "  No,  we  are  stay 
ing  in  one  of  the  cottages,  and  came  over  here 
only  for  dinner.  Ethel,  my  dear,  I  think  we 
had  better  go  back  now.  You  will  walk  over 
with  us,  Mr.  Rattleton,  will  you  not  ?  " 

"With  pleasure,"  answered  Rattleton,  truth 
fully.  "  Do  you  mind  my  dog?"  On  the  con 
trary,  they  thought  Blathers  a  lovely  dog,  and 
all  four  went  over  to  a  quiet  cottage  at  a  little 


280  Harvard  Stories. 

distance  from  the  hotel.  The  veranda  looked 
out  over  the  beautiful  river  and  was  most  in 
viting.  It  was  apparently  not  so,  however,  to 
Mrs.  West ;  for  as  she  went  up  the  steps,  she 
said  :  "  I  feel  a  little  chilly,  and  am  going  in 
doors,  Ethel.  You  may  stay  out  here  for  a 
little  while,  if  you  like."  Ethel  did  like  and 
went  over  to  a  pair  of  chairs.  As  she  passed 
through  the  light  of  an  open  door,  Jack  caught 
sight  of  a  bit  of  blue  ribbon  pinned  on  her  dress. 
He  sat  down  opposite  her,  and  opened  the 
conversation,  by  remarking,  "  You  are  on  the 
other  side  of  the  fence,  I  see." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  answered.  "  Don't  you  know 
that  I  have  a  cousin  on  the  Yale  crew  ?  I  am 
very  proud  of  him." 

"  Oh,  have  you  ?  "  said  Jack,  with  an  inward 
groan.  "  I  did  n't  know  it.  Well,  I  never  was 
a  really  clever,  polite  liar,  but  I  am  not  such  a 
transparent  one  as  to  say  that  I  hope  he  will 
win." 

A  little  rippling  laugh  followed  this  confes 
sion.  "  No,  you  had  better  not  strain  the  truth 
to  that  extent.  I  will  forgive  you  for  sticking 
to  your  colors  and  for  being  so  frank  about  it." 

"  It  is  not  only  because  I  am  a  Harvard  man 


Harvard  Stories.  281 

that  I  want  to  see  our  crew  win,"  Jack  went  on 
with  a  sort  of  gulp,  "it  is  also  because  the 
most  splendid  man  I  ever  knew,  and  one  of 
my  best  friends,  is  in  the  boat.  He  has  been 
through  an  awful  mill,  and  deserves  to  win  if 
ever  a  man  did." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  came  the  question,  perfectly  un- 
interestedly.  "  And  who  is  that  ?  " 

"  A  man  named  Rivers.  Do  you  happen  to 
know  him?"  Rattleton  tried  to  see  in  the 
moonlight  whether  or  not  there  was  any  more 
color  in  her  cheek  ;  but  he  could  n't.  Besides, 
he  had  enough  to  do  in  looking  after  his  own 
face.  He  felt  cold  all  over. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know  him  quite  well,"  she  an 
swered,  quite  carelessly.  "  Nice  fellow." 

"  He  is  more  than  that,  he  is  a  hero,"  de 
clared  Jack.  "  You  can  hardly  form  any  idea 
of  what  that  chap  has  been  through  this  year, 
and  the  way  he  has  borne  it  all  is  splendid.  He 
has  had  all  sorts  of  troubles  ;  his  governor  died  ; 
he  was  blue  about  his  exchequer ;  and  last,  and 
worst  of  all," — Jack  was  glad  the  moonlight  was 
kind  to  him  also,  but  looked  at  his  boots,  never 
theless, — "  I  am  perfectly  certain  that  he  fell  in 
love  with  some  girl  and  got  a  facer." 


282  Harvard  Stories. 

"A  what?  "  exclaimed  his  listener. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon — a  staggering  blow  in 
the  face,  metaphorical,  of  course.  I  have  got 
so  in  the  habit  of  using  slang,  that  I  fear  I  am 
not  fit  to  talk  to  a  lady.  I  beg  you  will  forgive 
me  for  bringing  such  prize-ring  language  to 
your  ears." 

"  It  is  very  expressive,  at  least,"  she  said. 
"And  did  Mr.  Rivers  tell  you  that  he  had 
received  a  facer  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  no,"  protested  Jack,  "  of  course 
not.  I  don't  know  it,  I  only  suspected  it  from 
his  actions  and  condition.  I  don't  even  know, 
of  course,  who  the  girl  is.  But  whoever  she 
may  be,  she  is  making  a  big  mistake.  She  is 
throwing  away  the  most  magnificent  fellow  in 
the  world.  If  she  does  not  amount  to  any 
thing,"  he  went  on  slowly,  "  I  am  glad  she 
does  n't  take  him,  for  Charley  ought  not  to  be 
wasted  on  her.  But  if  she  is  the  most  beauti 
ful,  gentle,  sweet  woman  who  ever  lived,  then, 
by  Jove,  such  a  pair  ought  to  be  married.  And 
I  am  sure  she  must  be  just  that,  or  else,  you 
know,  Rivers  would  not  have  fallen  in  love  with 
her.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

Rattleton's  hair  was  rigid  at  his  boldness  and 


Harvard  Stories.  283 

impertinence,  but  his  hair  had  nothing  to  do 
with  his  speaking  apparatus.  His  heart  was 
taking  charge  of  that,  moving  it  very  slowly 
and  just  a  little  hoarsely. 

"Why,  what  devout  hero  worship  !  "  said  the 
girl  with  a  smile.  "  No,  I  don't  think  anything 
of  the  kind.  He  might  have  fallen  in  love  with 
some  one  entirely  unworthy  of  him,  or,  what  is 
more,  who  did  not  care  for  him.  No  matter 
how  perfect  she  might  be,  you  would  not  have 
her  marry  if  she  did  not  love  him,  would  you  ?  " 

"No— o,"  assented  Jack,  reluctantly,  "but 
she  ought  to  love  him." 

"  He  must,  indeed,  be  all  that  you  paint  him, 
then,"  she  laughed,  "  but  love  does  not  neces 
sarily  take  to  paragons,  you  know.  Why  do 
you  admire  him  so  very  much  ?  " 

"  Because  I  have  known  him  like  a  brother 
for  four  years,"  answered  Jack,  earnestly. 
"  Oh,  if  you  knew  him  as  well  as  I  do,  you 
would you  would  n't  think  I  was  exag 
gerating." 

"What  made  you  think  him  so  desperately 
in  love  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  think  it  is  unmistak 
able,"  was  Jack's  weak  reply. 


284  Harvard  Stories. 

"  Only  those  can  tell  who  have  themselves 
been  in  that  condition — they  say,"  came  the 
laughing  response. 

Jack's  finger-nails  went  into  his  palms. 
"  No,  no,"  he  stammered,  "  no, — I  can  tell. 
Oh,  you  ought  to  have  seen  him,"  he  went  on, 
desperately.  "  The  way  he  went  to  work  at 
that  rowing  after  it  all,  showed  his  sand.  If 
they  lose  to-morrow,  I  believe  his  plucky  old 
heart  will  break  right  in  two." 

"  And  is  his  '  sand/  as  you  call  it,  restricted 
to  rowing  a  boat-race  ?  " 

"  No,  I  did  n't  mean  to  imply  that.  He  will 
go  on  working  to  win  that  girl  in  every  way  he 
can,  I  am  sure.  I  only  meant  that  his  conduct 
about  his  training,  in  such  a  hard  time,  shows 
what  stuff  he  has  in  him." 

"  Do  you  think,  then,  that  winning  a  boat-race 
is  the  best  way  to  win  a  wife  ?  Might  not  Mr. 
Rivers  find  some  higher  field  for  his  qualities? 
Is  it  not  a  little  childish  to  make  an  athletic 
contest  the  aim  of  a  man's  life  ?  Do  you  think 
the  only  pluck  worth  admiring  is  that  which 
goes  with  muscle  ?  ' 

Jack  had  heard  endless  discussions  on  this 
subject,  and  was  ready  for  these  questions. 


Harvard  Stories.  285 

"  No,"  he  said  in  answer  to  the  last  one,  "  I 
don't  think  anything  of  the  kind.  Please  don't 
imagine  that  at  Harvard  we  are  nothing  but 
gladiator  worshippers.  We  admire  a  plucky 
athlete,  it  is  true,  but  not  because  he  is  strong 
or  successful,  only  because  of  his  grit  and  self- 
denial.  Of  course  we  want  him  to  put  the 
Crimson  ahead,  but  we  like  him  none  the  less 
if  he  fails,  provided  he  has  done  his  best  and 
done  it  like  a  gentleman.  We  admire  the 
same  qualities  just  as  much  when  we  see  them 
in  any  other  field  than  that  of  athletics,  but  I 
suppose  we  don't  recognize  them  so  easily. 
But  in  that  our  little  world  is  not  so  different 
from  the  big  one.  Now  I  am  going  to  ask  you 
some  questions.  Has  any  man  during  the  last 
seventy  years  been  elected  President  of  these 
United  States  for  his  greatness,  unless  he  was 
a  soldier?  Has  not  the  general  been  preferred 
time  and  again  to  the  statesman?  Has  not 
the  warrior  always  been  dear  to  the  heart  of 
the  people,  while  other  men,  who  have  ham 
mered  away  all  their  lives  with  longer-winded 
pluck  and  perseverance,  must  content  them 
selves  with  secondary  honor?  The  reason  of 
this  must  be  that  when  a  man  does  his  duty  on 


286  Harvard  Stories. 

the  battlefield,  his  merit  is  more  patent  to  the 
people  than  in  the  harder  and  less  showy 
struggle  of  civil  life.  Are  we  youngsters,  then, 
so  very  much  younger  than  the  old  and  wise 
ones  who  criticise  us?  Why,  you  yourself  just 
now  said  that  you  were  proud  of  your  cousin 
because  he  was  on  the  Yale  crew." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  did  n't  say  that,"  laughed  the 
girl ;  "  I  only  said  that  he  was  on  the  Yale  crew 
and  I  was  very  proud  of  him.  Why,  Mr.  Rat- 
tleton,  what  a  sharp  pleader  you  are  !  I  had 
no  idea  that  your  talents  lay  in  that  direction." 

"  By  Jove !  neither  had  I,"  exclaimed  the 
ingenuous  Jack,  really  wondering  and  some 
what  abashed  at  his  unaccustomed  volubility. 
"  I  am  only  trying,  you  know,  to  repeat  what  I 
have  heard  other  fellows  say,"  he  confessed, 
apologetically.  "  I  suppose  I  have  got  it  all 
mixed  up  and  am  talking  like  a  fool,  but  please 
make  allowances  for  me,  because  I  am  one,  you 
know." 

"  No  you  are  not  at  all,"  she  said  slowly,  to 
Jack's  great  relief.  "  But  don't  you  think  that 
you  rather  belittle  yourself  and  your  fellows  by 
being  too  humble,  and  comparing  yourselves 
with  people  who  have  not  had  your  advantages  ? 


Harvard  Stories.  287 

Ought  not  educated  men,  men  of  the  same 
school  that  has  produced  our  greatest  thinkers 
and  workers,  ought  they  not  to  discern  between 
the  showy  and  the  solid  ?  Should  the  manli 
ness  of  the  athlete  be  any  more  patent  to 
them  than  the  higher  courage  of  the  student  ?" 

"  I  suppose  not,"  admitted  Jack,  resignedly. 
"  That  is  just  what  Hoi  worthy  always  says.  I 
tell  him  he  is  a  prig,  but  of  course  he  is  right, 
and  so  are  you.  But  nevertheless,  childish  or 
not,  I  cannot  help  admiring  such  a  man  as 
Charlie  Rivers  for  the  qualities  he  has  shown. 
He  has  been  so  strong  and  patient  and  loyal, 
— oh  !  such  a  man.  No,  even  if  it  is  all  wasted 
as  you  say,  you  can  never  convince  me  that  I 
ought  not  to  love  him  for  it." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  and  then 
came  the  admission  very  softly.  "  No,  I  don't 
think  I  can."  Jack's  finger-nails  went  into  his 
palms  again. 

A  moment  later  she  arose  and  said  :  "  Really 
I  ought  not  to  keep  my  aunt  up  any  longer.  I 
must  say  good-night,  Mr.  Rattleton." 

Jack  jumped  to  his  feet.  "  I  beg  your  par 
don  for  staying  so  late,"  he  said.  "  The  time 
has  gone  fast.  And-er-by-the-way,"  he  con- 


288  Harvard  Stories. 

tinued,  a  little  awkwardly.  "  I  have  done 
wrong  in  talking  so  much  about  Rivers'  trouble. 
Of  course,  I  really  know  nothing  about  it,  and 
it  is  none  of  my  affair,  you  know,  anyway. 
Please  don't  think  that  I  am  in  the  habit  of  gos 
siping  about  other  men  in  this  way.  I  got 
rather  carried  away  to-night,  I  am  afraid.  I  beg 
you  won't  say  anything  about  it  to  any  one." 

"  I  never  make  conversation  out  of  such 
things,  Mr.  Rattleton,"  she  answered.  "  You 
may  depend  that  I  shall  not  repeat  it  to  a  soul. 
And  now  good-night." 

She  looked  into  his  eyes  with  a  radiant  smile, 
and  held  out  her  hand.  Jack  took  it  as  if  he 
were  afraid  of  breaking  the  little  thing,  and  then 
dropped  it  quickly.  "  Good-night,"  he  said, 
shortly,  and  went  down  the  steps  and  over  the 
lawn,  followed  by  Mr.  Blathers. 

She  stood  for  a  moment  and  watched  him 
putting  great  stretches  of  moonlit  grass  behind 
his  long  thin  legs,  the  little  dark  figure  trotting 
beside  him.  Then  she  went  in,  threw  her  arms 
around  her  aunt's  neck,  and  kissed  her. 

"Has  Mr.  Rattleton  gone?"  asked  Mrs. 
West.  "  He  seems  like  a  nice  fellow." 

"  Yes,  and  he  is  one.     When  I  first  met  him, 


Harvard  Stories.  289 

I  thought  him  easy  enough  to  understand,  and 
like  every  other  boy  ;  but  I  can't  quite  make 
him  out  now.  At  any  rate  he  is  a  species  new 
to  me  and  an  interesting  one " ;  and  she  ran 
up-stairs  to  her  room,  singing. 

Jack  Rattleton  strode  along  the  river  bank 
and  out  to  the  end  of  the  Pequot  pier.  He 
stood  there  for  a  minute,  looking  over  the  river 
and  Sound,  then  sat  down  on  a  bench.  That 
enchantress,  the  moon,  was  aided  in  her  fairy 
work  by  the  riding  lights  of  the  dark  fleet  of 
yachts  at  anchor,  and  by  the  colored  sailing 
lights  of  the  becalmed  late  comers  drifting  in 
from  the  Sound.  But  the  lights  only  hurt  his 
eyes.  He  had  sat  there  some  time  when  he 
heard  his  name  spoken. 

"  Beautiful,  is  n't  it,"  said  Holworthy,  behind 
him. 

"  Got  a  weed  ?  "  asked  Jack. 

-Yes." 

"  Give  it  to  me."  He  bit  off  the  end  of  the 
cigar  nervously,  and  lit  it  with  thick  puffs. 
"  Gad! "  he  muttered,  I  'm  glad  I  'm  not  train 
ing  for  the  crew.  How  did  he  ever  stand  it ! 
But  Charlie  Rivers  is  a  very  different  breed  of 
cats  from  me," 


290  Harvard  Stories. 

Holworthy  looked  on  a  moment  in  silence, 
and  tried  to  pull  an  idea  out  of  his  moustache. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Jack?  "he 
asked,  gently. 

"  Nothing — only  that  I  am  such  a  poor  sort 
of  a  thing.  No  ambition,  no  backbone,  no 
sand.  Just  a  worthless,  dissipated  loafer. 
Let 's  go  lush  up  with  the  rest  of  the  crowd, — 
that  is  all  I  'm  good  for." 

"  Don't  talk  like  a  fool,"  replied  Hollis,  by 
way  of  comfort. 

"  A  disgrace  to  the  University.  Have  n't 
you  always  told  me  the  same  thing  ?  "  asked 
Jack,  with  a  ghastly  grin. 

"  That  is  no  reason  why  you  should  think 
so  yourself  and  get  so  blue  about  it.  I  never 
thought  you  would  ever  take  it  to  heart  so. 
You  know  I  never  meant  half  that  I  said.  I 
used  to  lay  it  on  thick  in  hopes  that  a  little 
would  soak  in." 

"  I  wish  it  had  all  soaked  in  long  ago," 
answered  Jack,  ruefully.  "  Don't  take  any  of 
it  back,  old  man  ;  you  have  n't  soured  me. 
Come  along,  let  's  go  back  to  the  old  gang. 
You  are  all  a  very  bad  lot  and  don't  properly 
appreciate  my  faults  ;  even  you,  you  old  prig. 
Come  along,  Blathers." 


Harva rd  Stories.  2  9 1 

He  tucked  his  arm  through  Holworthy's  and 
they  went  back  to  the  hotel,  Hollis  musing 
much. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  billiard-room  the  good 
work  was  going  on  to  Ned  Burleigh's  deepest 
gratification.  He  himself,  mounted  on  the  pool- 
table,  was  beating  time  with  a  broken  cue  for  a 
choir  of  sweet  singers.  They  had  cheered  each 
member  of  the  crew  and  the  coxswain,  declar 
ing  in  the  time-honored  measures  that  each  was 
a  jolly  good  fellow,  and  intimating  the  men 
dacity  of  any  one  who  might  deny  the  fact. 
Grateful  for  his  degree,  and  being  in  a  broad 
and  liberal  frame  of  mind,  Burleigh  had  also 
proposed  each  member  of  the  Faculty  of  Har 
vard  College  for  similar  honors,  prefacing  each 
nomination  with  a  few  well-chosen  remarks. 

"  And  now,  dearly  beloved  brethren,"  said 
he,  "  omitting  the  next  fifty-three  stanzas,  let 
us  all  unite  in  singing  the  one  hundred  and 
forty-fifth  ;  and  as  I  look  upon  your  happy,  up 
turned  faces,  I  cannot  help  being  touched  by 
the  spirit  of  those  beautiful  lines.  All  sing!  " 

The  earnest  chorus  roared,  with  cheerful  zeal, 
the  one  hundred  and  forty-fifth  verse,  as  ex 
horted. 

"  What  ho !  "  shouted  the  Lord  of  Misrule, 


292  ,     Harvard  Stories. 

"  What  is  yon  tall  form  i'  the  doorway.  Is  it 
the  melancholy  Jacques,  forsooth  ?  Or  is  it  our 
long-lost  wandering  Brother  Rattleton  return 
ing  to  the  fold  ?  Pull  off  his  coat,  somebody, 
and  look  for  strawberry-marks.  Joy,  joy,  mark 
his  old  time  smile  !  Throw  him  up  here.  Once 
more  now,  all  sing,  "  For  he  's  a  jolly  good 
fellow !  " 


III. 


The  day  was  beautiful  and  the  water  perfect, 
a  most  unusual  combination  for  the  'Varsity  race* 
day.  All  the  steam  yachts  had  gone  up  the 
river,  and  most  of  the  others  towed  up  also  and 
anchored  along  the  course  near  the  finish.  It 
would  be  waste  of  time  to  try  to  describe  the 
picture  of  the  great  annual  event  of  oardom,  a 
picture  that  is  done  every  year  in  the  sumptuous 
paints  of  the  press,  with  the  sky  and  the  river 
and  the  yachts  and  the  crowds,  and  above  all 
the  two  colors  everywhere.  It  is  painted  every 
year,  but  no  one  can  appreciate  it  who  has  not 
seen  the  original.  It  is  not  for  this  spectacle, 
however,  that  all  these  tremendous  crowds 
gather  ;  it  is  to  see  two  long  thin  yellow  streaks, 


Harvard  Stories.  293 

each  surmounted  by  nine  bodies,  eight  of  which 
swing  back  and  forth  in  a  most  monotonous, 
uninteresting  manner.  That  is  all  that  the  race 
looks  like  to  most  of  the  spectators — then  why 
do  they  go  to  see  it  ?  Because  they  know  tha 
those  sixteen  men  are  going  through  about  thl  V^- 
hardest  physical  strain  that  men  can  bear.  To 
the  layman  there  is  in  tennis  and  base-ball 
four  times  the  skill  and  pretty  playing  that 
there  is  in  foot-ball,  and  in  rowing  there  is  none 
at  all.  Yet  a  tennis  match  excites  the  least  in 
terest  of  all  college  sports,  base-ball  comes  next 
in  the  rising  scale,  and  both  of  these  combined 
do  not  rouse  a  quarter  of  the  enthusiasm  pro 
voked  by  a  foot-ball  game.  But  at  the  head 
and  front  of  all  athletic  contests  is  rowing — be 
cause  it  hurts  the  most.  Foot-ball,  it  is  true, 
requires  a  dashing  courage  and  disregard  of 
breaks  and  bruises  (though  "  dashing  courage  " 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing  never  occurs  to  the 
struggling  youngsters),  but  there  is  always  the 
great  relief  of  frequent  short  rests  during  the 
game  ;  in  a  four-mile  boat-race  there  is  no  let 
up.  The  half-back  makes  his  rush  and  plunge, 
is  slammed  on  the  hard  ground  and  buried  under 
hard  muscle,  is  picked  up,  rubbed  a  little,  and 


294  Harvard  Stories. 

with  the  cheers  of  the  crowd  in  his  ears  again 
goes  at  the  line,  head  first,  as  hard  as  ever.  But 
for  the  oarsman  there  is  only  the  incessant  pull, 
pull,  pull,  with  the  bees  in  his  brain  and  the 
growing  hole  in  his  stomach,  the  aching  legs 
and  leaden  arms,  and  before  him,  growing 
dimmer  and  dimmer,  the  bare  back  that  will 
never  stop  rising  and  falling,  and  that  he  must 
follow,  it  seems,  to  death.  Oh  !  it  does  hurt, 
and  that  is  why  the  great  crowd  goes  to  see  it 
and  goes  wild.  Yes,  fair  and  gentle  one,  that 
is  just  why  even  you  go  to  the  Thames  as 
your  predecessor  went  to  the  Colosseum.  There 
is  this  vast  difference,  however,  between  you 
and  Octavia — the  Roman  Vestal  looked  at  hired 
gladiators,  and  prisoners  who  were  forced  to 
hurt  each  other,  whereas  you  go  to  see  Tom, 
and  Jack,  and  dear  Mary's  brother  Mr.  Brown, 
hurt  themselves ;  and,  God  bless  you,  I  hope 
you  always  will.  So  long  as  you  do,  this  repub 
lic  will  never  fail  from  the  effeminacy  of  its 
young  men. 

The  "  gang  "  had  got  seats  in  the  same  car  on 
the  observation-train  and  were  waiting  for  it  to 
start. 

"  What  were  you  doing  with  that  Yale  man 


Harva  rd  Sto  ries.  295 

just  now?"  Hudson  demanded  of  Randolph,  as 
the  latter  joined  the  group  on  the  platform. 

"That  was  an  old  schoolmate  of  mine,"  an 
swered  Randolph,  evasively. 

."  Oh,  yes  ;  and  I  suppose  you  were  talking 
over  your  happy  childhood  days,  with  a  bunch 
of  bills  in  your  fist.  Fie  !  Johnny,  you  have  been 
betting." 

"You  need  n't  put  on  airs.  You  were  the 
first  backslider  of  the  lot,"  answered  Ran 
dolph. 

"  I  have  n't  put  up  a  cent,"  protested  Hudson. 

"  No,  because  you  met  a  man  who  knew  you 
and  bet  on  tick.  I  heard  you." 

"  A  man  who  did  rit  know  him,  you  mean," 
corrected  Burleigh.  "  You  are  all  a  set  of  weak, 
reprehensible  young  men.  I  am  ashamed  of 
you.  I  depend  upon  you,  at  least,  Hollis,  my 
son,  not  to  indulge  in  this  wicked  vice  of  bet- 
ting." 

"Yes,"  laughed  Holworthy,  "  there  must  be 
some  one  left  to  float  you  home,  if  we  lose." 

"  Now  you  mention  it,"  Ned  suggested, 
"  perhaps  you  had  better  lend  me  an  X  now, 
in  case  we  should  get  separated  after  the  race. 
I  want  to  prevent  the  spread  of  this  athletic 


296  Harvard  Stories. 

fever  and  the  evils  that  follow  in  its  train.  I 
am  afraid  my  governor  may  become  too  enthu 
siastic.  If  I  go  home  to  him  again  C.  O.  D.  he 
will  begin  to  take  a  real  interest  in  seeing 
Harvard  win,  and  I  fear  even  a  pecuniary 
one." 

"This  betting  is  indeed  a  deplorable  evil," 
said  Stoughton,  solemnly,  "  in  off  years.  Listen 
to  me,  my  children.  Two  years  ago  I,  even  I, 
who  now  stand  before  you,  was  a  reckless,  un 
godly  Sophomore.  I  went— 

Just  then  the  whistle  blew,  and  Stoughton 
jumped  for  the  car  to  get  a  front  seat  before 
the  rest  of  the  crowd.  The  long  observation- 
train,  a  peculiar  feature  of  the  New  London 
race,  moved  slowly  out  from  the  station  on  its 
way  to  the  starting-point,  four  miles  up  the 
river.  Then  the  cheering  began,  one  car  taking 
it  up  after  another,  the  sharp  quick  cheers  of 
the  Yale  men  mingling  with  the  slower  full- 
mouthed  three-times-three  of  Harvard.  Every 
one  is  always  in  great  spirits  before  the  race 
begins,' — it  is  different  afterwards.  They 
chaffed  each  other,  and  shouted,  and  laughed, 
and  the  enthusiastic  choruses  of  "  Here 's  to 
good  old  Yale,  drink  her  down,"  were  answered 


Harvard  Stories.  297 

with  the  stirring,  swelling  cadences  of  "  Fair 
Harvard." 

When  they  got  to  the  starting-point,  of 
course  the  crews  were  not  yet  there.  Across 
the  river,  however,  at  Red  Top,  the  H.  U.  B.C. 
quarters,  tall  forms  were  seen  entering  the  boat- 
house. 

"  Oh,  how  I  wish  I  were  like  those  chaps," 
sighed  little  Gray,  who  was  already  beginning 
to  tremble  with  excitement.  "  What  would  n't 
I  give  to  be  able  to  pull  an  oar  to-day." 

"  I  have  thought  of  it  myself,"  said  Burleigh; 
"  but  they  would  n't  build  the  boat  to  suit  my 
figure." 

"  The  only  thing  I  could  do  for  the  glory  of 
Harvard  was  to  try  for  coxswain,"  went  on 
Gray,  ruefully,  "and  they  would  n't  have  me." 

"  Was  that  the  best  you  could  do  for  Alma 
Mater?"  said  Holworthy.  "  What  a  pity  you 
could  n't  succeed  in  putting  such  laurels  on  her 
brow !  " 

"  There,  Gray,  take  that,"  chuckled  Stough- 
ton ;  "  that  is  the  time  Pegasus  fell  down  and 
got  his  neck  stepped  on." 

"  Are  n't  you  ashamed  of  yourself,  you  hot 
headed  little  poet,"  put  in  Hudson,  gravely. 


298  Harvard  Stories. 

"  How  can  you  speak  so  thoughtlessly,  even 
when  sitting  right  beside  Holworthy,  the 
Superb?  Can  you,  a  member  of  the  Oldest 
and  Greatest  take  such  a  childish  interest  in. a 
paltry  boat-race  ?" 

"  You  are  forgetting  all  about  the  atmos 
phere,  and  the  traditions,  and  all  that  sort  of 
game,"  added  Randolph.  "  What  difference 
does  it  make  to  us  whether  we  win  or  lose? 
Remember  the  true  glories  and  blessings  of  our 
ancient  University." 

"  For  instance,"  drawled  Rattleton,  "  whether 
we  want  to  celebrate  or  console  ourselves,  we 
have  all  the  royal  crimson  juices  with  which  to 
do  it,  whereas  those  poor  Elis  can't  find  a  blue 
drink  to  save  their  souls." 

"  Jove !  I  never  thought  of  that.  Glad  I 
didn't  go  to  Yale,  aren't  you,  Gray?"  ex 
claimed  Stoughton. 

"  I  don't  believe  the  color  of  their  booze 
troubles  them  much,  as  long  as  we  pay  for  it," 
reasoned  Burleigh.  "  Still,  that  is  the  proper 
spirit  and  the  right  way  to  look  at  these 
comparative  collegiate  advantages.  Is  n't  it, 
Gray  ?  " 

"  If  you  chaps  think  you  can  get  a  rise  out  of 


Harvard  Stories.  299 

me,"  answered  Gray  to  all  this,  "  you  are  mis 
taken  ;  but  for  your  own  sakes  you  had  better 
not  try  to  be  so  funny  in  public.  As  for  you, 
Hoi,  there  is  no  use  at  all  in  your  trying  to  play 
the  lofty  indifferent.  You  are  as  much  excited 
as  any  man  ;  you  look  as  if  you  were  going  to 
row  the  whole  thing  yourself.  I  have  been 
watching  you  biting  your  knuckles  and  clench 
ing  your  fist  and  staring  over  at— 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  great  shout,  and 
everybody  jumped  to  his  feet.  Out  of  the 
boat-house  opposite,  came  the  long  shell  borne 
by  the  Crimson  eight.  As  they  put  it  in  the 
water  another  shout  went  up,  and  a  volley  of 
cheers,  for  at  that  moment  the  Yale  crew  shot 
round  the  point  from  Gale's  Ferry,  with  a  beau-, 
tiful  snap  and  dash,  and  "  let  her  run  "  in  front 
of  the  train.  They  were  not  kept  waiting 
long  for  the  Cambridge  men  got  quickly 
into  their  boat  and  came  swinging  across, 
showing  but  one  crimson  back  until  they 
turned.  There  was  perfect  precision  and  splen 
did  power  in  their  sweep.  There  were  five 
men  in  the  boat  who  had  never  pulled  an  oar 
in  the  four-mile  race,  but  they  were  all  good 
ones.  Four  had  rowed  on  their  class  crews ; 


300  Harvard  Stories. 

the  fifth,  though  a  Freshman,  had  taken  hold 
wonderfully,  had  a  magnificent  physique,  and 
had  come  up  with  a  good  reputation  from  St. 
Paul's.  And  there  was  Dane  Austin,  L.S.,  at 
stroke,  the  hero  of  four  'Varsity  races,  and 
behind  him  at  7,  old  Billy  Bender,  the  iron 
captain  who,  with  all  luck  against  him,  had 
made  a  winning  crew  before,  and  certainly 
must  have  done  so  this  year  with  such  material. 
These  two  could  surely  "  hit  up  "  the  stroke 
indefinitely,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  boat 
towered  Charlie  Rivers,  looking  as  if  he  could 
do  all  his  own  share  and  that  of  the  three  men 
behind  him,  if  need  might  be. 

Now  both  crews  backed  up  to  the  starting 
boats,  and  off  came  the  jerseys.  They  were 
right  opposite  the  car.  "  Attention  !  "  "  Ready  !" 
Rivers  leaned  forward  and  buried  his  blade 
alongside  of  Yale  for  his  last  chance.  He  had 
never  won.  Holworthy,  bent  almost  double, 
gripping  his  chin  in  his  hand,  watched  that 
statue.  He  could  see  no  expression  whatever 
in  the  sunburned  profile  and  the  motionless 
eye  fixed  on  the  neck  before  it.  He  wondered, 
— "  Row  !  "  He  saw  the  oar  bend  so  that  his 
heart  stopped  for  a  moment  in  the  fear  that 


Harvard  Stories.  301 

the  spruce  would  break.  A  mingled  roar  that 
sounded  like  "YAYAVARD!"  then  silence  so 
that  he  could  hear  the  clear,  cool  tones  of 
Varnum,  the  coxswain.  He  saw  the  mighty 
shoulders  heave  back,  and  swing  forward  again 
in  one  motion,  the  arms  rigid  as  steel  pistons. 
Again,  with  not  a  movement  of  the  arms. 
"  Row ! "  A  third  time,  and  this  time  the 
great  muscle  leaped  up  and  the  arm  was  bent 
until  the  oar  butt  touched  the  chest,  then  shot 
out  again  like  a  flash,  "  Row  !  That 's  good  ; 
steady,  now  hold  it."  The  roar  burst  out  again, 
and  this  time  it  sounded  clear  enough.  HAR — 
AR — YARD  !  Holworthy  took  his  eyes  from 
his  chum  and  looked  at  the  whole  picture. 
The  little  red  coxswain  was  even  with  No.  3  in 
the  Yale  boat !  It  had  been  a  perfect  racing 
start  ;  those  three  tremendous  lightning  strokes 
had  shot  the  Harvard  eight  nearly  half  a  length 
ahead  of  their  rivals.  There  was  no  question 
as  to  which  were  the  stronger  men,  but  strength 
is  the  least  thing  of  all  that  wins  a  boat-race. 
After  this  first  leap  the  Yale  crew  hung  right 
where  it  was,  and  would  not  fall  clear  of  the 
Crimson  oars.  At  the  mile  flag  Harvard  had 
not  increased  her  lead  perceptibly. 


302  Harvard  Stories. 

"  That  's  all  right ;  they  '11  spurt  in  a  minute," 
shouted  Randolph.  So  they  did  and  gained  a 
little,  at  least  so  it  seemed  to  the  Crimson 
wearers. 

The  shells  were  far  out  in  the  stream  now, 
and  how  slowly  those  two  centipedes  were 
crawling !  The  two  eights,  that  had  dashed  away 
from  the  starting-point  (which  is  close  to  the 
bank),  now  seem  to  swing  back  and  forth  with 
aggravating  deliberation. 

"  There  !  There !  now  Yale  's  coming  up  !  " 
"  Not  much,  sir,  look  at  that ! "  Since  the 
start  that  was  the  best  struggle  so  far, — just 
before  the  Navy-yard,  and  there  was  no  ques 
tion  that  this  time  Harvard  had  gained.  At 
the  end  of  two  miles  she  had  a  good  length. 

Again  the  Yale  men  spurt ;  gaining?  no,  but 
holding, — yes  gaining, — there!  Of  course  the 
train  has  gone  behind  the  island  just  at  the 
most  exciting  point.  Everybody  leans  back 
and  tries  to  take  a  long  breath.  For  a  minute 
nothing  is  heard  but  the  chug,  chug,  chug  of 
the  train.  Hark !  the  front  cars  are  out,  listen  ! 
But  that  spontaneous  indefinite  yell  may  come 
from  the  lungs  of  either,  or  both  sides.  "  Yale  ! 
Yale  !  YALE  !  "  the  two  crews  are  even  !  Bow 


Harvard  Stories.  303 

and  bow  to  the  two  and  a  half  mile  flag,  and 
the  stroke  is  high  now.  But  high  as  it  is  Dane 
Austin  is  sending  it  higher,  for  Bender  behind 
him  knows  the  vital  importance  of  leading  at 
the  three-mile  flag,  and  has  probably  grunted 
"  hit  her  up."  Slowly  the  Harvard  shell  pokes 
ahead,  a  yard,  two,  a  quarter  of  a  length. 
"  Harvard  !  Harvard  !  Harvard  !  "  The  Crim 
son  coxswain  shows  in  the  middle  of  the  Yale 
crew.  "  Can  they  hold  it  ?  "  "  Yale  is  spurting 
like  fury  too."  "  No,  the  red  coxswain  is  drop 
ping  back."  "  They  are  even  again."  "  No, 
by  Jove  !  Yale  is  ahead  !  "  "  YA-A-L-E !  "  Two 
miles  and  three  quarters  and  Yale  is  ahead  for 
the  first  time.  Another  desperate  spurt  and 
the  Harvard  bow  comes  up  even  again,  but 
holds  there  less  than  a  minute,  and  another 
beautiful  effort  of  the  Yale  crew  sends  their 
boat  farther  ahead  than  before.  The  Cam 
bridge  men  are  not  rowing  as  they  were  ;  they 
are  ragged  ;  can  they  be  weakening?  There  is 
a  break  somewhere  ;  seems  to  be  in  the  middle. 
The  Blue  coxswain  is  going  ahead  fast  now. 
Yes,  there  is  a  decided  break  right  in  the  middle 
of  the  Harvard  crew.  "  Hullo !  no  wonder ! 
somebody  is  gone !"  "What?"  "No!  Oh, 


304  Harvard  Stories. 

d it  all,  no,  not  No.  4?  "  "  Man  alive,  you 

don't  know  who  No.  4  is."  "Can't  be!" 

"Yes,  but  it  is  though."  "  Rivers,  by 

Charlie  Rivers !  " 

It  was.  Swaying  irregularly,  he  was  throw 
ing  himself  back  and  forward  all  out  of  time. 

"  He  is  a  passenger !  "  exclaimed  a  Yale  man 
in  the  car.  "  It  has  been  a  fine  race,  but  it  will 
be  a  procession  now.  Those  big  men  are  no 
use  in  a  boat." 

"  Hold  on,  my  friend,  look  at  that !  If  he  is 
a  passenger  he  is  working  his  passage  pretty 
hard  still." 

He  did  seem  to  gather  himself  for  a  moment, 
probably  in  response  to  a  yell  from  the  cox 
swain,  and  for  a  second  the  glimpse  of  open 
water  between  the  boats  was  shut  out  by  a 
Harvard  spurt.  It  was  no  use.  Yale  drew 
away  again  faster  than  ever.  Rivers  was  grow 
ing  worse  and  worse.  His  head  was  loosening, 
but  not  falling  yet ;  it  was  snapping  back  at  the 
end  of  each  stroke,  a  fault  that  showed  he  was 
still  pulling  hard,  though  all  out  of  form  and 
time. 

Hollis  Holworthy  had  not  moved  from  his 
first  position  since  the  beginning  of  the  race. 


Harvard  Stories.  305 

He  had  taken  no  part  in,  and  paid  no  attention 
to  the  exclamations,  shouts,  and  cheers  around 
him.  He  had  grown  paler,  that  was  all.  Only 
now  he  muttered  to  himself,  "  He  is  too  old  an 
oar  to  pull  himself  out  in  the  first  two  miles." 

Jack  Rattleton  sat  beside  him.  "  He  is  doing 
it  deliberately,  Hoi,"  he  said  softly,  with  a 
quivering  lip. 

"  I  don't  believe  it,  Jack.  You  do  him  injus 
tice.  He  has  more  grit  and  patience  than  that, 
and  if  he  had  not,  he  would  not  sacrifice  the 
rest  of  the  crew  and  the  Crimson  to  his  own 
madness.  No,  I  can't  make  it  out,  but  I  don't 
believe  that." 

At  the  three  and  a  quarter  mile  flag  the  New 
Haven  men  had  a  fast  increasing  stretch  of  clear 
water  behind  them  and  were  going  easily.  How 
prettily  they  did  row !  A  winning  crew  with  a 
safe  lead  always  does. 

And  now  began  that  most  pathetic  spectacle, 
the  finish  of  a  beaten  eight-oared  crew.  Yet 
there  was  not  one  of  their  friends  looking  on 
who  would  not  have  given  anything  to  have 
been  pulling  with  them  then.  Where  was  that 
faultless  form,  that  clock-like  time,  that  glorious 
sweep,  that  at  the  start  had  raised  an  exultant 


306  Harvard  Stories. 

shout  from  every  breast  that  bore  the  Crimson  ? 
Much  of  the  mighty  strength  was  still  there,  but 
pitifully  divided  against  itself,  and  therefore  fast 
waning.  The  new  men  were,  every  one  of  them, 
"  rowing  out  of  the  boat,"  that  is  to  say,  swing 
ing  in  a  circular  motion  around  the  ends  of 
their  oars,  in  their  desperate  efforts  to  pull  their 
hardest.  The  temptation  to  do  this  is  generally 
irresistible  to  a  green  man  when  behind.  It 
seems  to  him  as  if  he  can  pull  harder  in  this  way, 
and  indeed  it  looks  so  to  the  unknowing  ob 
server.  Time  and  form  are  thrown  overboard 
in  the  wild  struggle  to  row  his  heart  out.  Only 
the  two  old  veterans  at  7  and  8  were  still 
swinging  over  the  keel,  not  a  hair's  breadth 
to  starboard  or  port,  coming  forward  steadily 
and  back  with  a  simultaneous  heave ;  their 
backs  straight,  their  chins  in,  two  parallel  un 
broken  lines  from  hip  to  crown ;  their  oars 
taking  the  water  cleanly  and  together,  pulled 
clear  through,  and  flashing  back  at  once  with  a 
perfect  feather.  So  evenly  and  smoothly  did 
they  row  that,  to  the  untaught  eye  on  the  dis 
tant  train,  they  might  have  seemed  to  be  shirk 
ing  ;  but  to  those  on  the  yacht  decks  along  the 
course,  the  spread  nostrils,  clenched  jaws,  and 


Harvard  Stories.  307 

swollen  veins  told  a  very  different  story.  An 
old  Yale  stroke,  when  his  hat  came  down  on 
deck  again  after  the  Yale  crew  had  passed,  let  it 
lie  where  it  fell  as  he  gazed  at  the  struggling 
tail-enders,  and  exclaimed,  "  Look  at  those  two 
men  in  the  stern.  By  gracious,  is  n't  that  grand  !  " 
And  Rivers,  the  third  of  the  old  guard,  Rivers, 
who  had  been  relied  upon  to  brace  the  waist  of 
the  boat,  who  had  before  rowed  that  terrible 
fourth  mile  in  a  losing  race  and  rowed  it  well ; 
how  was  he  finishing  ?  Not  an  ounce  of  strength 
in  his  blade.  He  was  still  throwing  his  body  to 
and  fro  with  the  others  or  nearly  so,  his  head  fall 
ing  forward  and  back  as  he  did  so,  and  his  oar 
moved  ;  but  that  was  all.  He  was  now  being 
carried  over  the  line  by  the  crew  he  had  ruined. 
He  alone  was  doing  nothing  ;  the  others,  though 
ragged,  were  still  pulling  desperately,  using  up 
the  very  last  of  their  failing  strength. 

Through  the  buzzing  in  their  ears  they  can 
faintly  hear  the  guns,  the  whistles,  and  the  roar 
of  the  crowd.  Not  for  them,  not  for  them. 
What  difference  does  that  make  ?  They  may 
win,  or  at  any  rate  they  can  lose  like  men.  They 
may  win,  they  may  win.  "  Let  her  run." 

Over  the  water  from  all  sides  come  the  cheers 


308  Harvard  Stories. 

and  shouts  of  "  Yale,  Yale,  Yale."  Leave  them, 
reader,  if  you  so  choose,  they  are  beaten  men ; 
go  and  rejoice  with  the  victors  who  have  rowed 
a  splendid  race  and  well  deserve  your  congratu 
lations.  I  always  take  a  certain  morbid  interest 
myself  in  the  nine  heartbroken  men  who  are 
quietly  carried  away  in  their  launch  as  soon  as 
possible  after  a  race. 

All  over  and  lost  in  twenty  minutes,  the  work 
and  self-denial  of  seven  months !  The  big 
Freshman  has  dropped  his  head  on  his  knees 
and  is  sobbing  like  a  baby  ;  of  course  it  must  be 
all  his  fault.  Bill  Bender  is  still  grimly  gripping 
his  oar  and  looking  straight  before  him  ;  that 
back  is  bent  now,  but  the  jaw  is  still  set,  the 
eyes  flashing,  and  through  his  teeth  he  registers 
a  vow  to  come  back  to  the  Law  School  and  get 
at  'em  again.  Varnum,  the  coxswain,  is  as  pale 
as  the  rest ;  he  has  rowed  every  stroke  of  that 
race  without  the  savage  comfort  of  the  physical 
torture ;  he  has  seen  what  the  others  could  not 
— the  Blue  coxswain  going  farther  and  farther 
ahead,  and  he  powerless  to  help  his  straining 
men.  They  all  hold  on  to  something  or  clasp 
their  knees  tightly — to  faint  or  fall  over  would 
be  a  grand-stand  play. 


Harvard  Stories.  309 

Nevertheless  that  was  what  Charles  Rivers 
did.  He  swayed  for  a  moment,  grasped  blindly 
at  the  side  of  the  shell,  and  fell  back  uncon 
scious  in  the  lap  of  the  man  behind  him. 
And  then,  for  the  first  time,  No.  3  saw  that 
the  bottom  of  the  boat  was  red  with  blood. 
Rivers  had  broken  his  sliding-seat  before  the  two 
mile  flag  was  reached,  and  had  rowed  the  last  half 
of  the  race  sliding  back  and  forth  on  the  sharp 
steel  tracks  that  cut  into  him  at  every  stroke.* 

Before  the  observation-train  had  fairly 
stopped  Holworthy  leaped  from  it  and  dashed 
for  the  river  bank  followed  by  Rattleton.  As 
they  passed  one  of  the  cars  they  both  recog 
nized  a  girl  with  a  blue  flag.  Holworthy  said 
something  that  Jack  did  not  hear  ;  the  former 
did  not  notice  that  the  girl's  face  was  deadly 
pale  and  the  blue  flag  motionless  in  her  hand, 
but  the  latter  did. 

"  There  is  no  use  in  our  following  them," 
said  Burleigh.  "  They  won't  be  allowed  to  talk 
to  the  crew  even  if  they  get  out  to  the  float." 
Therein  he  was  quite  right ;  before  the  two 
could  get  a  boat  to  go  out  to  the  Harvard  float 

*  There  is  no  fiction  about  this.  It  was  done  by  a  Harvard 
oarsman. 


3io  Harvard  Stories. 

at  the  finish,  they  saw  the  men  helped  out  of 
the  shell  and  onto  the  University  launch. 
They  saw  Rivers  carried  aboard.  Then  the 
launch  steamed  quickly  up  the  river,  towing  the 
empty  shell. 

"  Hullo,  there  is  my  uncle's  boat,"  exclaimed 
Rattleton,  pointing  to  a  big  schooner.  "  I  am 
going  aboard  her.  You  go  back  to  New  London 
and  get  a  trap,  and  I  '11  meet  you  at  the  ferry." 

Holworthy  ran  back  towards  the  town.  On 
the  way  he  met  the  others,  who  stopped  him 
to  hear  what  was  up. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied.  "  He  is  com 
pletely  gone.  I  am  going  up  to  the  quarters. 
You  fellows  must  n't  come.  They  won't  allow 
a  crowd  there." 

"Where  is  Jack?" 

"  Gone  aboard  his  uncle's  yacht.  Rather 
think  he  has  gone  to  ask  for  an  invitation  for 
Charlie.  Hope  so." 

"  Is  n't  there  anything  we  can  do  ?  " 

"  Not  a  thing.  Don't  try  to  see  him,  please ; 
you  probably  won't  have  a  chance  to,  anyway." 

"  You  won't  dine  with  us  then  ?  " 

"  Can't  possibly." 

"  Well  then,  good-bye,  old  man.     We  '11  all 


Harvard  Stories.  3 1 1 

come  back  together  next  year  and  see  them 
win." 

"  Good-bye.  Write  to  a  fellow  once  in  a 
while  and  let  me  know  how  you  are  all  getting 
on  in  the  world." 

"  Good-bye."  "  Good-bye."  "  Good  luck  to 
you."  "  Thank  heaven  we  have  all  been  at 
Harvard  anyway."  This  last  for  the  benefit  of 
a  knot  of  radiant  men  who  pushed  by,  with 
violets  in  their  button-holes,  and  who  looked 
back  and  laughed  good-naturedly. 

So  "  the  gang "  separated,  and  so  separate 
constantly,  after  this  battle,  not  knowing  when 
they  will  ever  meet  again,  men  who  have 
lived  together  four  years  and  have  become  the 
closest  friends  that  live. 

Half  an  hour  later  Holworthy  and  Rattleton 
in  a  buggy  were  on  their  way  to  Red  Top. 
All  sorts  of  rumors  had  already  spread  about 
No.  4  in  the  Harvard  boat,  and  they  were  really 
relieved  to  find,  on  arriving  at  the  quarters,  that 
Rivers  was  nowhere  near  death's  door,  not 
even  permanently  injured.  But  the  great, 
stalwart,  glorious  man  was  weak  and  limp  as  an 
invalid  girl.  As  soon  as  possible  they  got  him 
away  from  the  gloomy  group  at  the  quarters, 


312  Harvard  Stories. 

and  took  him  aboard  the  cruiser  of  Rattleton's 
uncle  for  perfect  rest  and  sparkling  blue  water. 
There  they  kept  him  prisoner  for  two  weeks, 
though  before  he  had  fairly  got  back  his 
strength,  he  began  chafing  to  get  to  work. 
When  at  last  they  let  him  go,  he  buckled  down 
to  his  desk,  as  he  had  to  his  oar,  and  kept  at  it 
until,  at  the  end  of  the  summer,  a  short  vaca 
tion  was  forced  on  him. 

The  following  cablegram,  received  by  "  Herr 
Holz  Holvordy,"  at  St.  Moritz,  explains  itself : 

NEWPORT,  Sept.  5. 
She  is  mine.     Hurrah.     Be  my  best  man. 

RIVERS. 

At  the  wedding  every  one  remarked  what  a 
handsome  couple  they  were,  and  how  well 
suited  to  each  other.  Holworthy.of  course  was 
best  man.  The  ushers  were  Messrs.  Bender, 
Burleigh,  Gray,  Hudson,  Randolph,  and 
Stoughton.  Jack  Rattleton  happened  to  be 
abroad  at  the  time. 


THE  END. 


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B^G.  era.    MAY     3  1981 

LD  21-95m-7,'37 

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